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THE FLEET AT CAMP COUCHICHING 




FROM TENDERFOOT 
TO SCOUT 


BY 

ANNA C. RUDDY 



HODDER & STOUGHTON 
NEW YORK 

GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 




Copyright, 1911, 

By George H. Doran Company 


4 ^/ 


©CI.A30(i028 


TO 

THE BIG CHIEF 
AND 

THE LEADERS OF 1910 


p= 


fe". 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEE PAGE 

I. A Matter op Discipline ... 11 

IL A Fae Country ...... 25 

III. The Return op the Prodigals . 37 

IV. When Father Takes a Hand . . 51 

V. The Murderer 63 

VI. The Wreck . 76 

VII. At Camp 84! 

VIII. On the Trail op the Indian . . 94 * 

IX. Camp Politics 110 

X. The Admiral’s Revenge . . . ISl 

XI. The Dispatch Runners . . . 137 

XII. The Winner 152 

XIII. Mrs. Merrill and the World op 

Sport 164! 

XIV. The Hero op St. Jean .... 172 

XV. The Fire Fighters 182 

XVI. The Pirates 191 

XVII. The Capture 204! 

XVHI. On the Trail ...... 214! 

XIX. Camp Couchiching as Cupid . . 231 

XX. The Storm 24!4! 

XXI. The Haunted Rapids .... 260 

XXII. Donald 272 

XXHI. Home Again . 284! 


7 


1 


I 


A 


t 


I 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


The Fleet at Camp Couchiching 
A Swimming Race 
First Aid Drill - - - 

Reversion to Type 
The Storming Party 
A Pillow Fight - - - 

The Midday Halt - 

Young Vikings - - - 

Important Affairs - - - 

A Hike - - - - 

War Canoes - - - - 

The Signal Corps 
A Morning Sail - - . 

A Typical Tent and Its Inmates 
White Cannibals - - - 


Frontispiece 
32 jr 
48 / 
64 / 
96 *^ 

- 112 / 
128 ‘ 

- 144 
i6or 

. 176 ^^ 

192 " 

- 224 ^ 
256 ‘ 

- 272 * 
288 - 





“ Lei us probe the silent places, let us seeh what luck 
betide us. 

Let us journey to a land I know. 

There's a whisper in the night wind: There's a star 
agleam to guide us. 

And the Wild is calling, calling ,,, let us go," 

Seevice. 


CHAPTER I 

A MATTER OF DISCIPLINE 

J UST a moment, Norah. There is another matter 
I wish to speak about.” 

Norah paused respectfully at the door of the 
morning room, where she had been receiving orders 
for the day, a little sparkle of antagonism in her 
Irish blue eyes. When her mistress spoke in that 
tone it was usually well to be on the defensive. 

Mrs. Merrill carefully adjusted her gold pencil, 
and sitting back regarded her cook disapprovingly. 

It seems to me that you have been with me long 
enough to know my wishes regarding Sandy’s com- 
panionships,” she said severely. 

Yes, ma’am.” 

And now I find that he has been entertaining all 
sorts of objectionable boys in the barn. .You must 
have known it.” 


11 


12 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


“ Oh thim, sure they wasn’t doin’ no harm. I kep’ 
me eye on thim ivery minute, ma’am,” replied Norah 
in a relieved tone. 

Very good of you, I am sure,” said Mrs. Merrill, 
dryly. Nevertheless I want to make it clearly un- 
derstood that I have positively forbidden Sanford to 
have these boys on the premises at all. A while ago 
he took to inviting them to his room, and they actu- 
ally began having wrestling bouts there. It is all 
very trying, and I thought I had settled the matter 
when I forbade that.” 

‘‘But they wasn’t doin’ no harm,” repeated No- 
rah. 

“ That is not the question,” said Mrs. Merrill, 
patiently. Norah had been in her employ since be- 
fore Sandy was born, and was his self-constituted 
champion whether he was right or wrong. 

“ It is the matter of companionship that I am 
most interested in. If they were quiet, gentlemanly 
boys I should not object, but I will not have these 
boisterous, noisy creatures about the place.” 

“ B’ys is all divils,” said Norah cheerfully. 
“ Divils they’re born, and divils they’ll be as long as 
they’re b’ys, and it’s me own opinion that the quiet 
ones is the biggest divils of all.” 

Mrs. Merrill looked duly shocked. 

“ Well, any way, I shall not permit it,” she said 
with decision, “ and I shall expect you to see that my 
wishes are carried out, so far as the barn is con- 
cerned.” 

Norah returned to the kitchen, to express her 


A MATTER OF DISCIPLINE 


IS 


opinion to the cat who was sunning himself on the 
window sill. 

“ Indade and it’s a misfortune to be born widout 
a home,” she soliloquized. “ In Ireland me poor 
mother had nothin’ but a mud cabin and a turf fire, 
but the b’ys brought in who they liked, and if there 
was anything to laugh at we all laughed together, but 
as for this poor craythur, he hasn’t got a place for 
the sole of his fut at all, at all. It’s ‘ Sandy, yuh 
talk too loud,’ and ^ Sandy, yer boots are muddy,’ or 
‘ Sandford, yuh’ll break this or that,’ from mornin’ 
till night, bad luck to thim.” Whereupon she re- 
lieved her overwrought feelings by baking a batch of 
cookies entirely for Sandy’s benefit. 

That evening a disorganized Wild West Show; 
gathered in the lane back of the Merrill premises, to 
listen with exclamations of disappointment and mut- 
terings of discontent, to the explanation given by 
Buffalo Bill alias Sandy Merrill as to the reason why 
they could not rehearse in the barn any more. 

“ Did we break anything or do any damage? ” de- 
manded the Indian who was leader in the raid on the 
Deadwood stage. 

‘‘No, you didn’t do a thing.” 

“Well, why can’t we stay then?” persisted the 
intrepid driver of the stage coach. 

“ Oh, hang it all, fellows, you can’t, that’s all ; the 
bunch is too noisy and I can’t help it. You’ve just 
got to stay out,” cried Sandy, his round, freckled 
face hot with embarrassment. 

“ All right, come on fellows. Who wants their 


14 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


old stable? It’s a rotten old place, any way,” ex- 
ploded Indian number two ungratefully. 

The boys started off, and Sandy stood looking 
after them with clenched fists and a dark frown on 
his face. Suddenly two or three of them paused and 
looked back. 

‘‘ Come on, Sandy,” called Barney Allen, his partic- 
ular chum. “ Don’t you go gettin’ sore now ; you 
can’t help it if the folks turned us down.” 

The others joined in the invitation, and Sandy’s 
face cleared. 

‘‘Where’ll we go now?” he asked in a mollified 
tone as they moved off together. 

“ I know a dandy hang-out,” said one. “ It’s back 
of Ted Spier’s tobacco store. You can get all the 
stuff for cigarettes you want for almost nothing, 
and you can play some dandy games too, you bet. I 
made a dollar there the other night in no time.” 

“ What about the show? ” asked Barney. 

“ We’ll have to chuck that,” was the gloomy re- 
sponse. 

The matter of Sandy’s companionships was set- 
tled to Mrs, Merrill’s complete satisfaction. The 
spring evenings were no more made hideous with the 
howling dervishes in the barn, and she thanked 
Heaven that she was not as other mothers, who knew 
not how to rule their households with firmness and 
discretion. Sandy became quieter than usual and the 
boys were not hanging about waiting for him. He 
spent an hour or two in his room after school and 
then as soon as supper was finished, usually slipped 


A MATTER OF DISCIPLINE 


16 


out the back way and did not return until bed time, 
or near it. 

Mr. Merrill was away from home a great deal, 
owing to the absorbing nature of his business, and 
when at home was much preoccupied. He had not 
begun to take his fourteen year old son seriously. 
He was such a noisy, blundering youngster, always 
getting into mischief without meaning it. The 
one other member of the family was Alice, sixteen, 
pretty, daintily dressed and absolutely sure of her- 
self. 

Four peaceful weeks had passed since the incident 
of the Wild West Show, when a thunderbolt burst 
over Mrs. Merrill’s head in the shape of a note 
from Sandy’s teacher. 

Sandford has been a ringleader in stirring up 
trouble for some time,” it informed her, and ‘‘he 
would have to apologize and amend his ways, or be 
suspended.” 

“ I cannot understand this,” she exclaimed to 
Alice, who was filling several bowls with early June 
roses. 

“ Well, I can,” responded Alice promptly, 
“ Why, mother, that boy is just awful, if you want 
to know.” 

Mrs. Merrill carefully folded the note. 

“ I don’t know what you mean, Alice,” she said 
coldly. “ I am sure he has been very quiet and 
studious since I have not permitted him to have the 
boys here any more.” 

“ Quiet and studious ! ” repeated Alice derisively. 


16 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


“ Where is he when he goes out nights, I’d like to 
know? ” 

“ He only goes down to the corner, he tells me. I 
am sure, Alice, there is no need to talk as though 
Sandy was a bad boy.” 

Well, any way, he carries on like everything at 
school, and I’m glad he’s in trouble for once,” said 
Alice, her head on one side as she surveyed a bowl 
of yellow roses from the angle of the doorway. 

I shall talk to him when he comes in,” remarked 
her mother quietly. 

Sandy was sullen and unresponsive for the first 
time in his life when his mother broached the sub- 
ject, and his eye flashed back at her for an instant, 
with a glint of hardness altogether new. 

‘‘ I’d like to know what she wrote to you for,” he 
blurted out when he found his voice. 

“ She wrote to me because you must either apol- 
ogize or be put out of school, and I shall see that you 
apologize, and are a better boy in future.” 

‘‘ I won’t apologize to her, and if she was a fellow 
I’d punch her head.” 

‘‘Sandford!” ejaculated Mrs. Merrill, aghast at 
this declaration of independence in her usually merry- 
faced boy. 

‘‘ Well, if you’re not the limit ! I should think 
you’d be afraid to talk to mother like that,” ex- 
claimed Alice, who had just entered the room. 

“ We will not discuss the matter any further at 
present, Sandford. You will kindly stay in the 
house until I give you permission to leave it,” said 


A MATTER OF DISCIPLINE 


17 


Mrs. Merrill in the tone which both her son and 
daughter knew well from intimate and varied experi- 
ence. 

“ My, but you’ve got a sweet temper,” remarked 
Alice as he scowled blackly and strode out of the 
room. 

Sandy tore up to his room three steps at a time, 
with clenched fists and lowering brow. He had been 
learning fast during these weeks since he had joined 
the company in Spier’s back yard. Not that he 
cared for them or the things they did so much as for 
the sense of freedom from restraint. Here he was 
among men and those who thought themselves men. 
He was one of them, and he did feel deliciously big to 
smoke a cigarette and play a game of craps, or even 
swear once in a while with the best of them. 

Yes, he had learned a few things. One of them was 
that the fellows who drank and smoked and swore 
were the true sports. The goody-goody kind, who 
went to Sunday School and obeyed girl teachers at 
school, were a poor weak lot. 

I am at a loss to know what has come over the 
boy. He actually told me that he would not apol- 
ogize to Miss Marvin,” confided Mrs. Merrill to her 
husband that evening in the cool green and white liv- 
ing room, after she had told him the story of the 
note and the trouble at school, 

Mr. Merrill sat back in a Morris chair enjoying 
a cigar, and absent-mindedly turning the leaves of 
the latest Scribner’s while he listened to his wife’s 
story. He was wont on such occasions to laugh at 


18 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


her complaints and tell her to let the boy break the 
furniture if he wanted to, but this was a little more 
serious. He was a clean-shaven, young-looking man, 
and the resemblance between him and Sandy was 
striking. 

“ What do you propose to do about it.^ ” he asked, 
laying down the magazine resignedly. | 

“ I don’t know : of course he must apologize, I 

though I doubt if he is so very much in the wrong j 

after all. I am going to talk to Mrs. Jones, his \ 

Sunday school teacher, to-morrow. She is such a ) 

sweet, motherly woman, and I am sure she will have j 

some influence over him. Perhaps she can say some- 
thing to him on Sunday.” ' 

Mr. Merrill examined the end of his cigar thought- ^ 

fully. I 

“ I think that since Nature has conferred one J* 
mother on him, that is all he needs for the present,” ), 
he said finally. j 

“ Well, if you will tell me what he does need I shall ' 
be thankful.” 

The young cub probably needs a sound thrash- 
ing, first of all.” ‘ 

‘‘ Edward, you are positively brutal ! If that isn’t ■ 
just like a man, resorting to brute force first thing, \ 

without looking into the right or wrong of the case.” 

“What do you propose to do, then?” repeated 
Mr. Merrill, undisturbed by this arraignment. 

“ I have done everything that a mother can do to 
bring that child up into respectability — and the dear 
knows I have had my hands full. Why, I have 




A MATTER OF DISCIPLINE 


19 


emptied tons of stuff out of his room — the queerest 
collection of rubbish he is always bringing home. 
Then he would have this house fairly running over 
with the noisiest hoodlums in the neighborhood — ^but I 
have stopped all that; not one of them comes near 
the place any more. I have accomplished that much, 
at least.” 

Mrs. Merrill picked up her embroidery frame with 
an air of finality, and proceeded to work under the 
light of the green-shaded electric lamp, while her hus- 
band watched her with troubled, thoughtful face, his 
mind wrestling with the problem of his son’s bringing 
up, which had presented itself to him in a new aspect, 
and one which he could not get away from. 

The next afternoon being Saturday, Sandy was in 
his room deep in the delights of the latest five cent 
thriller, a supply of which was always to be found 
hidden under the heavy wardrobe in the corner. His 
mother was entertaining a caller on the piazza, and 
their voices floated up through the open window, but 
he was dead to everything save the entrancing story. 
It portrayed the adventures of a youth of fourteen 
who fled from home to escape the cruelties of a wicked 
step-mother, and went to New York, where almost 
immediately he attracted the notice of the detective 
bureau by his sagacity in foiling the plans of a 
desperate criminal. At sixteen he was the trusted 
advisor to the Chief of Police, and at eighteen was 
engaged to be married to the daughter of a Wall 
Street millionaire. It was full of thrilling adven- 
tures and hair-breadth escapes, and when he finished 


^0 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


it he drew a long, envious breath, a dozen wild 
schemes floating through his active brain. 

Sandy’s imagination was his strong point, though 
no one knew anything about it but himself. He 
usually lived in a world all his own — a world peopled 
with pirates, Indians, cowboys, scouts and outlaws of 
all descriptions. When he rushed down stairs and 
through the house to the detriment of carpets and 
furniture, his mother could not know, of course, that 
he was an Algonquin Chief at the head of his tribe, 
making a death-dealing assault on the savage Iro- 
quois. What to his world at large was an ordinary 
Toronto street, was to him a plain over which the 
great buffalo herd might sweep at any moment. The 
trees which lined the wide street on which their home 
stood were so many ambuscades, from behind which 
many imaginary skirmishes had taken place. 

There was no stirring adventure in which Sandy 
had not taken part. On the high seas he had cap- 
tured the intrepid buccaneer and had swept into port 
with a band of discomfited rascals down the hold, and 
the British colors flying where he had found the black 
flag of the pirate. He had stolen through the track- 
less forest on moccasined feet, carefully obliterating 
every trace of his presence, and, crouched near the 
enemy’s camp-fire, had heard their secret plans dis- 
cussed. He had waded for miles through streams to 
throw the bloodhounds off his track, and by his own 
right hand had slain whole packs of wolves and other 
wild things of the forest. 

It was an enchanted land, this world of imagina- 


A MATTER OF DISCIPLINE 


21 


tion, compared with which the workaday world of 
every day was a dreary waste of restrictions and 
don’ts. 

He now became conscious of the voices on the 
piazza below. 

“ I knew you would understand me, Mrs. Jones,” 
his mother was saying, in smooth, even tones. “ You 
see I have made it a point always to regulate every 
detail of my son’s life. I have a horror of every- 
thing that savors of roughness, and for this reason 
I have positively forbidden him to take part in any 
of these half savage sports which boys and young men 
think so necessary nowadays. When he gets a little 
older he may play tennis in summer, and perhaps I 
may permit curling as a winter sport ; I am not sure 
yet.” 

The visitor murmured a polite reply, but Sandy did 
not wait to hear any more. With a vicious shove he 
pushed the magenta-covered novel back to its hiding 
place and flung himself out of the room. Tennis, 
forsooth ! That was for girls and white-faced bank 
clerks. As for curling — bah ! Hadn’t he heard his 
mother remark that the minister shortened the prayer 
meeting on winter evenings that he might go to curl? 
Well, all he had to say was that if Dr. Thompson 
was dead stuck on a thing, there was nothing doing in 
it for him. 

He rushed down stairs and through the kitchen, 
banging every door as he went, causing Norah to hurl 
an expletive after him, then sat down on the back 
fence to think matters over. He had not been there 


22 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


long when Barney Allen sauntered along with a 
basket of potatoes from his mother’s grocery, fol- 
lowed by Ginger, his dog, the other member of this 
three-cornered friendship. It was their favorite spot 
for the exchange of confidences and yellow-backed 
novels, and Barney set his basket down, ready for a 
chat. 

Sandy’s eyes were sparkling with excitement, and 
he glanced over his shoulder to see that Norah was 
nowhere within ear-shot. 

“ Say,” he exclaimed in an impressive whisper. 
“ How’d you like to go to New York and be a detec- 
tive ? ” 

That was the dream of Barney’s life, but he merely 
ran his fingers through his red hair and stared at 
Sandy for a moment. 

“ Aw, come off your perch. Are you goin’ 
nutty.? ” he demanded, finally. 

“ I’m giving it to you straight, and you can come 
or not as you like, but I’m going to New York, and 
I’m going to do a few things that’ll make folks sit 
up, I am.” 

‘‘ Do you want me? ” 

Sure I do. Look here : I’ve got some money in 
my bank upstairs; I guess there’s enough for us 
both, if you’re game.” 

“ I’m game all right, but ” 

‘‘ But what? ” inquired Sandy, impatiently. 

‘‘ Nothing — only there isn’t anybody to carry 
these things around for my mother,” Barney faltered 
slowly. 


A MATTER OF DISCIPLINE 


23 


Sandy’s countenance fell for an instant, for even 
he knew what a brave fight the little widow was mak- 
ing to support her six children, of whom Barney was 
the eldest. Then a bright idea struck him, and he 
exclaimed : 

“ See here, that’s all right. Don’t you see you’ll 
be able to send her lots of money soon, and that will 
be ever so much better than staying home to do poky 
things like that.” 

At this moment Ginger created a diversion by chas- 
ing a cat up the post beside Sandy. The cat spat 
and hissed, and Ginger barked furiously, and in the 
midst of the confusion Barney made up his mind. 

I’ll call your bluff on that,” he said, when peace 
was restored. 

Shake on it. You’re a sport, old fellow,” cried 
Sandy delightedly, and they proceeded to map out 
their plans. 

Thus it happened that on Monday morning when 
the last stray scholar had been gathered into school, 
and the familiar hum of voices arose from every class- 
room, Sandy and Barney were missing. At that mo- 
ment they were on a Grand Trunk train speeding on 
its Way to Niagara Falls and New York. Barney 
was on the top wave of excitement, chatting con- 
stantly to Sandy, who sat next the window, dressed 
in his best clothes, a purse containing eleven dollars 
and sixty-two cents in his inside pocket, and a look 
which defied fate on his freckled face. 

Neither of them had brought any baggage, and 
neither of them had thought of eating breakfast. 


M FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


When the first call to dinner came, Sandy led the 
way into the dining car. He knew all about it, for 
he had been in one with his father and mother once 
last summer. They ate their way straight through 
the bill of fare, and Sandy generously tipped the 
waiter before leaving. 

“ Now for Niagara Falls,” he said, as they settled 
down in their seats once more and he consulted his 
gold watch for the twentieth time. It was an ex- 
pensive watch for a boy of fourteen to carry, and 
had his full name, John Sandford Merrill, engraved 
on the inside case. It was the gift of his grand- 
father, whose namesake he was, and he was very 
proud of it. 

‘‘ Yes, now for the Falls,” repeated Barney. 

We’ll see everything there, then we can go to New 
York to-morrow. Have you got the tickets ? ” 

‘‘I only bought tickets to the Falls. I’ll buy 
them for New York to-morrow,” replied Sandy easily, 
as the train drew up at Suspension Bridge. 


CHAPTER II 


A FAR COUNTRY 

T WO or three days later the runaways were com- 
ing back home, not in luxurious ease, ordering 
their meals in a dining car, but afoot, penniless and 
hungry. It had all been so different from what they 
had expected, and they were thoroughly disillusioned. 
Their clothes were dusty, their stockings torn and 
Barney’s boots were already in holes. 

All day long they had trudged wearily along a dusty 
road which had spun out endlessly before them like a 
gray ribbon, dipping into deep gullies here, ascending 
long hills there, or turning unexpected corners to re- 
veal long flat stretches in the midst of green fields. 
Just now they were descending a low hill, at the foot 
of which a stone bridge crossed a stream, rippling 
musically over pebbles, shining white in the sunlight. 
Great elms spread their leafy arms over the creek, 
and a hundred yards to the left a cool wood echoed 
with the twittering of nesting birds. Everything 
breathed the joy of a day in early June. 

A red squirrel chattered a challenge to the boys 
from an overhanging limb, but they were too ab- 
sorbed in their own affairs to even shy a stone at 
him. 

It was an inglorious retreat, and they were not 
25 


26 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


taking defeat easily. Barney had nagged and com- 
plained all day, and Sandy had exercised more self- 
restraint than he had ever used in his life before, but 
there was fire in his eye if Barney had but seen it. 

‘‘ Say, this sort of thing makes me sick,” he 
grumbled, in continuation of a long line of similar re- 
marks. “ How do you think a fellow’s goin’ to get 
along without a bite to eat all day ? ” 

Sandy had sprained his ankle earlier in the day, 
and limped painfully. He made no audible reply to 
Barney’s remarks, but his hands in his pockets were 
clinched, and something inside of him was repeating 
over and over again, like the haunting strains of a 
chorus : “ I’ve got to lick him. I’ve got to lick him.” 

“ Gee, but I’m sorry I come. I’ll never believe a 
word you tell me again, Sandy Merrill, and you bet 
you’ll never catch me running away with you again.” 

‘‘ Wait till you’re asked, you bum, and shut up, 
will you? ” exploded Sandy angrily. 

“No, I won’t. You coaxed me to come and you 
lied to me, so there.” 

Sandy was furious with anger. 

“ You quitter, you’ve got to take that back,” he 
shouted, stepping nearer to Barney and waving his 
fists threateningly. 

“I won’t take it back, and I’m not a quitter, 
either.” 

“All right, if you won’t, you can take that, and 
that,” Sandy roared, giving him two stinging blows 
across the cheek with his open palm. 

The red squirrel ran screaming with excitement to 


A FAR COUNTRY 


27 

the topmost limb, to view from a respectful distance 
the scene which followed. All the pent-up disap- 
pointment and ill humor of days lent force to the 
battle. 

Barney was staggered for an instant, and then 
with a roar like a young bull he sprang at his assail- 
ant, his head down and his arms swinging wildly. 
Sandy was the smaller of the two and was hampered 
by his lame ankle, but these deficiencies were more 
than offset by quickness and accuracy of aim. 
Neither one gave any thought to self-defense, but in 
blind rage each was intent on landing as many blows 
as possible. 

In less time than it takes to tell it, blood was spurt- 
ing from Sandy’s nose, and he had landed a straight 
left on Barney’s right eye. Then they clinched and 
were soon rolling over and over in the dusty road, 
grunting and sputtering, sometimes one uppermost 
and sometimes the other. 

So absorbed were they that they failed to hear the 
exclamations and expletives of a man hurrying along 
the bank of the creek, as rapidly as his weight of 
years and of flesh would permit, his bleared eyes full 
of delight at sight of the battle. It was old Bill 
Green, the tramp tailor, noted in three counties for 
his love of strong drink, his inability to stick to a job 
after the first pay-day, and for his unfailing good 
nature. 

“ Hey there, youngsters,” he panted when he 
reached the bridge. “ Time’s up. Time’s up, I 
say ! ” 


28 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


Startled and ashamed, Sandy released his hold, but 
Barney held on like grim death. He neither heard 
nor saw the intruder. 

“ Oh, look here now, Red-head, you lose on this 
round. Y’ought to listen to the referee. Git up 
there or I’ll lambaste you myself, so I will.” 

Barney heard and scrambled to his feet with a for- 
bidding scowl in the direction of the newcomer, who 
was in high good humor. 

“ Gee whiz ! If you’re not the blamedest brace of 
young gamecocks I’ve seen in a month of Sundays,” 
he chuckled admiringly. “ Drawed blood, too, as I’m 
a sinner! Say, I’ll give you one minute before you 
begin the second round. That’s square, ain’t it? ” 

Sandy stopped mopping the blood from his face 
long enough to turn and look at the speaker. 

“ Who are you, anyway? ” he asked disdainfully. 

Who? Me? Why I’m the referee. Sonny. I’m 
goin’ to see that you play the game fair this time, 
see?” 

“ Well we don’t want any referee and you needn’t 
bother about us,” was the haughty reply. 

‘‘No bother at all,” said Bill reassuringly, taking a 
clay pipe out of his pocket. “ Now you just hold 
your horses a minute while I light my pipe ; then I’ll 
start you.” He was a short, pudgy man, with a red, 
unshaven face and shabby clothes, but he fairly radi- 
ated good fellowship. 

He leaned against the bridge while he cut his 
tobacco and filled his pipe in a leisurely manner. 

“Yes, sir, I’m goin’ to see fair play. None of 


A FAR COUNTRY 


29 


your wrastlin’ or hittin’ in the clinches when your 
uncle’s on board, me hearties. I know the rules of 
the game, I do.” 

Barney had gone to pick his cap out of the dust 
fifty feet back, and Sandy was still busy with his 
nose. 

^‘You’re not going to referee any game for us, 
I tell you,” he repeated crossly. Neither he nor Bar- 
ney were anxious to renew hostilities at this 
stranger’s bidding, but were too tired to start on 
their journey again. 

Bill struck a match, and, shading it from the light 
breeze, applied it to his pipe and puffed vigorously 
for a moment or two. 

Now, then, get ready,” he cried, and when I 
holler ‘ time ’ you just lay into it for all you’re 
worth.” 

Sandy’s eyes turned to a little path which led to 
the bank of the creek nearest the woods. 

“ Come on, let’s shake this old Buttinsky,” he 
urged, without looking at Barney, and led the way as 
fast as the pain in his ankle would let him. Barney 
followed, much to Bill’s disgust. He had been hop- 
ing for some rare sport, and he halted after them, 
his face eloquent of disappointment. 

Say, I thought you was real sports, but you 
ain’t,” he complained as he caught up to them. 

Why you ought to ha’ kep’ it up till one or the 
other of you got knocked out; that’s accordin’ to 
rules.” 

No one answered, and he continued hopefully: 


60 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


Yez could do it right here better than in the road. 
I’ll let you have a rest, then you can start,” 

The boys bathed their faces in the stream and then 
threw themselves down on a mossy bank. All the 
anger and resentment had died out of their hearts, 
and left them too miserable and hungry and home- 
sick even to answer Bill’s latest proposal. 

That individual sat down heavily, with a sigh. 
‘‘ No, you ain’t no sports at all,” he grumbled. 
Why, you didn’t even shake hands. Jiminy, that’s 
so! If yez won’t fight, yez have just got to shake 
hands, that’s all.” 

There was a sullen silence for a moment or two; 
then Sandy, glancing towards Barney, caught an 
appeal in his eye. In a moment they were on their 
feet, their hands had met, and they both turned away 
looking very subdued and very foolish. 

Their self-appointed good angel gave an approv- 
ing nod, and spat cheerfully into the creek, then lay 
back on the mossy bank and gave himself up to the 
full enjoyment of his pipe. 

The late afternoon sunshine lay in a golden sheen 
over the woods and fields, and the creek babbled and 
sang over the stones on its way to Lake Ontario, not 
far distant. A song sparrow poured forth its 
joyous notes from the trees just above them, and it 
seemed as though the whole earth throbbed and 
pulsated with the life and joy of early June. Only 
the two boys were out of tune with it all. There was 
no beauty in anything they saw or heard; they only 
wanted to get something to eat and to get home. 


A FAR COUNTRY 


31 


Bill lay flat on his back, gazing silently up into the 
cloud-flecked blue of the sky and blowing curling 
rings of smoke above his head, but his mind was still 
dwelling regretfully on the unfinished fight. 

That weren’t no fair fight, ” he broke forth at 
last, removing his short pipe and waving it argu- 
mentatively. “ You got to learn to do it scientific. 
You played foul right along; you hit below the belt; 
you wrastled; you did everything you hadn’t ought 
to ha’ done. Why, look here, if a guy that knowed 
how ’d come along he’d wallop the life out of a dozen 
fellows like you with one hand. Gee whiz! You 
just ought to see a real fight once; then you’d learn 
a thing or two.” 

Sandy was rubbing his lame ankle and Barney lay 
face downward on the bank. He looked up with a 
glimmer of interest. 

Did you ever see a prize fight ? ” he asked. 

“ Sure I did,” lied Bill promptly. Why, 
Sonny, if I had a dollar for every big mix-up I’ve seen 
I’d be rich, you bet. There ain’t a man in this 
country as knows the game better’n I do, if I do say 
it myself. ” 

He closed his eyes and puffed away for a moment, 
to let the boys take in the magnitude of this state- 
ment. 

Barney drew a deep breath, and stretched his tired 
limbs on the soft moss. 

‘‘ What one did you see last? ” he ventured. 

Bill rubbed his stubbly chin, and gazed abstractedly 
into space for a moment before replying. 


32 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


“I was just try in’ to think,” he said finally. 
“ Seems to me ’twas down in ’Frisco the time Jeffries 
and Fitzsimmons had their big mix-up. Yes, sure, 
that was it. I ’member now. Gee! that was the 
funniest thing I ever seen, the way Jeff licked Fitz 
all round the ring; ’twas enough to make a pig 
laugh.” 

■ Urged for particulars. Bill launched forth into an 
inconsequent story of the fight, ending up in what 
was supposed to be an explanation of the relative 
merits of the straight left and the right swing, and 
describing just how a right-hand cross-counter might 
be successfully met with an inside left-hook. By this 
time the boys were alive with interest, their woes for- 
gotten for the time, and Bill was accepted as a mem- 
ber of that inner circle where boys are wont to place, 
regardless of age or condition, all those who are true 
sports and who play the game. They were now on 
an established footing. 

‘‘ Where you fellows goin’? ” he asked, after he 
had exhausted the story of the fight. 

‘‘ To Toronto,” they answered in a breath. 

Live there? ” 

“Ye-es.” The reply was reluctant. 

Bill relit his pipe and looked thoughtful. 

“ How long can a fellow live without eating any- 
thing? ” demanded Barney suddenly. 

‘‘ Oh, I don’t know. Pretty near a week I guess. 
How long since you had anything to eat? ” 

This morning.” 

“ Huh, you ain’t got no kick cornin’. Wait till 



A SWIMMING RACE 



A FAR COUNTRY 


ss 

you’re so thin your bones begin to rattle; then you 
may talk.” 

‘‘ Gee, I feel as though I was goin’ to die. My 
bones are rattling now,” exclaimed Barney gloom- 

iiy- 

Bill’s evident interest in them, and the feeling of 
relief at being able to talk, drew forth their story, 
and they told it without reservation. Bill evincing his 
interest by sitting up to listen and uttering sym- 
pathetic ej aculations at intervals. 

They told how at Niagara Falls they had seen 
everything and enjoyed everything, and stayed at the 
best hotel, as it was the only one Sandy knew — he 
had been there once with his mother — then how, when 
the bill was settled next morning, they were dismayed 
to find they had only seventy-two cents left. They 
tried to cross the river, but were stopped at the 
bridge by a stern-looking official. Then they had 
started to walk home, sometimes getting a lift from 
good-natured farmers, but oftener tramping miles 
and miles without any such opportunity. 

This morning their last cent had gone for a couple 
of rolls apiece, and they had discussed with some heat 
whether Sandy should dispose of his watch. He had 
promised his grandfather to keep it always, and he 
had decided to keep his promise, and fight this busi- 
ness out. He frankly took the blame of the whole 
affair on his own shoulders. 

I’m the unluckiest guy you ever saw,” he said 
ruefully. ‘‘I’m always getting into scrapes. Just 
this afternoon a fellow chased me off his wagon and 


84 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


I hurt my foot. The dear knows what’ll happen 
next. I can’t move without doing some damage.” 

Well, I ought to have known better myself,” con- 
ceded Barney. 

“ It’s tough luck,” commented Bill, when the story 
was done. “ But you made one big mistake right in 
the start: Y’ ought never to have paid no railroad 
fare, that’s wastin’ good money. Beat your way, or 
hoof it ; that’s my motto every time.” 

We’re hoofin’ it back, all right,” sighed Barney 
ruefully. 

A low whistle and the crackling of twigs from 
the direction of the woods attracted their atten- 
tion. 

“ Why, that’s my chum ; I clean forgot all about 
him,” exclaimed Bill, starting up uneasily as the un- 
dergrowth parted and a seedy looking youth shuffled 
towards them, a hatful of eggs in his hand. He 
stopped short when he saw the trio. 

Now what the ” 

That’s all right, Tom,” interrupted Bill hastily. 
‘‘It’s only two kids what’s down on their luck. 
They’re the goods, all right, and you don’t need to 
get up on your ear at all.” 

Tom deposited the hat carefully in the crotch of 
a tree. 

“ Thought you was runnin’ a blame kindergarten 
when I heard you back there,” he growled, with an 
ugly glance in the direction of the boys. “ Now what 
you think you’re goin’ to do with this outfit, any- 
way ” 


A FAR COUNTRY 


35 


Nothin’ at all,” said Bill. I guess the barn’s 
big enough for us all, and it won’t hurt if they bunk 
in with us for once.’’ 

‘^Not on your life; they don’t bunk in where I 
am,” snarled Tom, and the boys felt exceedingly un- 
comfortable. 

Though young, he was a genuine tramp of the 
criminal variety, with narrow, shifty eyes, a coarse 
mouth and ragged, filthy clothing. A sudden 
thought seemed to strike him, for he added ungra- 
ciously : 

“ If they want to hang around with us they’ll have 
to rustle for grub, and mighty quick, at that.” 

Bill looked relieved. Sure they can,” he agreed, 
and turning to the boys, added: 

‘^Now, there’s your chance, if you’re hungry. 
There’s a white house down the road a piece. If you 
strike the old woman you’re in luck. The old man’s 
a skinflint from the word go. You’d better go round 
by the road, for if you go through the fields you’ll 
likely strike the old man at the barn. Then the next 
place is old Baldy’s; you’re sure to get something 
there.” 

“ Don’t you show your faces back here if you 
haven’t grub enough for the bunch. It won’t be 
good for you if you do,” threatened Tom darkly. 

The boys looked in each other’s faces, conscious 
only of one overwhelming sensation, and that was 
hunger. 

“ Are you game ? ” asked Sandy briefly. 


36 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


‘‘Game? Gee, I’m starving,” exclaimed Barney, 
jumping to his feet. 

“Come on, then,” cried Sandy, hopping off toward 
the road, followed by words of encouragement from 
Bill and foul-mouthed threats from Tom. 


CHAPTER III 


THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGALS 

T he two boys were coming up the long lane to- 
ward the white house slowly and hesitatingly, 
when a motherly looking woman in a blue dress and a 
white apron crossed the yard from the barn, with an 
empty dish in her hand, puzzling over the fact that 
her usually industrious hens had laid no eggs that 
day. Everything about the white house and the 
well-kept farm buildings betokened thrift and pros- 
perity, while the fields on every side gave promise of 
a bountiful harvest. 

Suddenly, with an exclamation, she shielded her 
eyes with her hand to get a better view of the two 
sorry-looking figures coming up the lane. 

Who on earth can they be ? ” she asked herself. 
One is lame, and they’re both poor. My, but they 
look neglected ! ” 

If it had not been for dire hunger Sandy would 
have turned and fled even now. His cheeks were 
burning with shame as he thought of himself as a 
beggar and a companion of tramps. This was what 
his escapade had brought him to, 

Barney’s mood was not retrospective, however. 
He had always been sadly lacking in imagination, 
and he was only interested in what they would get to 
eat. 


37 


38 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


The woman waited for them, and as they drew near 
they forgot every word of the little speech they had 
been planning as they loitered up the lane. In the 
sweet face there was only kindness and encourage- 
ment, however, and before they knew it they were 
blundering in the midst of a confused statement of 
their errand. 

“ My days ! ” she interrupted, when she had 
listened for a moment. “ Hungry, you say.? Why, 
you poor lads, come away in, and I’ll get you some- 
thing to eat this minute. And you’re walking all the 
way to Toronto, you say. My! My! That’s too 
bad ! Too bad ! ” 

They followed her into a roomy kitchen, which was 
the picture of cheerfulness and comfort. After the 
manner of farmhouse kitchens the floor was painted 
yellow and the walls were white, but there were 
braided rugs on the floor, and the old-fashioned 
dresser was filled with rows of willow-patterned china. 
The mellow afternoon sunshine streaming over the 
tops of the potted plants in the open window rested 
on the picture of a boy on the opposite wall. It was 
an enlarged photograph in a cheap frame, and the 
boy, who was perhaps seven years of age, was dressed 
in kilts. Even Barney as he glanced at it was struck 
with the resemblance between the pictured face and 
that of the mistress of the house. There was the 
same broad forehead, back from which the hair 
waved luxuriantly, though the boy’s was brown and 
the woman’s white ; the same dark eyes with the little 
sparkle in their depths, and the same delicately 


RETURN OF THE PRODIGALS S9 


chiseled nose and chin. Only the mouth was differ- 
ent ; the one in the picture was irresolute and a little 
wilful, while the woman’s was full of strength 
and kindness. 

She took off her sunbonnet and put the empty dish 
in the pantry. 

Just sit down, and I’ll get you something right 
away,” she said cordially. 

The boys obeyed shamefacedly, Sandy getting as 
near as possible to the chintz-covered armchair, 
where two kittens were rolled up together fast 
asleep; he needed some diversion to hide his em- 
barrassment. 

From a drawer in the dresser she brought out a 
coarse white cloth, and spread it over one end of the 
long table, and placed on it two plates and two cups. 
Sandy politely confined his attention to the kittens, 
which were awake now and ready for play, but 
Barney, his unkempt red hair sticking out in all 
directions, kept his eyes glued on his hostess’s move- 
ments. A long-drawn sigh escaped him as she dis- 
appeared into the pantry. Every moment was an 
hour until she reappeared with a plate piled high 
with home-made bread in one hand and a platter of 
cold chicken in the other. This was followed by a 
plate of creamy biscuit and a jug of new milk. He 
began to count a hundred, and had just reached 
ninety-seven when her cheery Sit in then, lads,” 
made him jump. 

What a meal that was! and how the biscuit and 
bread disappeared! 


40 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


The mistress of the house hovered over them and 
urged them to have more and still more, until even 
Barney was forced to admit that he had had enough. 
Then she brought out a bottle of liniment and some 
old linen for a bandage, and proceeded to doctor 
Sandy’s lame ankle with the deftness and tenderness 
of the born nurse. He told her the story of his ac- 
cident and much more. It did not occur to him to 
tell anything but the truth, and her eyes were filled 
with concern. 

A heavy footfall sounded on the piazza, and with 
a startled exclamation she hurried to the door. The 
boys heard her speak in a low tone and a hard voice 
raised sharply in reply. 

“ What’s that you say.^^ Feeding two tramps, 
eh? Why didn’t you set the dogs on them, woman? ” 

“They’re not tramps, James. They’re just two 
boys — not bad boys, either.” 

“ Boys be hanged ! They’re the worst kind of 
tramps. It’s funny they know better than to come 
when there’s a man around.” 

“ They’re on their way to Toronto. One of them 
is lame ; he sprained his ankle to-day.” 

“ Well, I’ll sprain the other for him when I take 
this horsewhip to him.” 

“ No, no, James ! You mustn’t touch these two 
poor lads. They’re somebody’s lads away from 
home and they’ve done no harm to anybody.” 

“ That’s enough, woman. Let me pass there and 
I’ll get the truth out of them. I’ll guarantee. Gosh, 
but women are soft ! ” 


RETURN OF THE PRODIGALS 41 


The woman’s voice took on a new quality, and 
the Scottish accent, before barely noticeable, 
became very clear and broad as she repeated stead- 
ily: 

You’ll be letting these two lads alone, I’m think- 
in’. It is not you who’ll be remembering it, but it’s 
just fifteen years ago to-day since Donald went 
away. He wasn’t many years older than these two 
lads that day, and we’ve never heard from him since. 
God grant that our boy has never gone hungry to 
anybody’s door, and God grant if he has that nobody 
has — No, no, James! We’ll be turnin’ nobody’s lad 
away this day ” 

Her voice broke, and the two boys, sitting straight 
in their chairs with tense, startled faces, heard the 
man give a low, inarticulate exclamation and sud- 
denly stride off towards the barn. 

For a moment no one moved nor spoke, then she 
came in with the same quiet strength in her face, a 
shadow lurking in her eyes which was neither of pain 
nor tears, and yet which was akin to both. 

‘‘You’re sure you’ll not have something more.^” 
she urged hospitably. “ Then I’ll just wrap up some- 
thing for you to take along with you. You’ve a long 
road ahead of you between here and Toronto.” 

Suiting the action to the word she took what was 
left of the chicken and wrapped it in a newspaper, 
together with a loaf of bread, and pressed it upon 
them. 

In broken words, and not without a suspicion of 
tears, they thanked her. Sandy told her he would 


42 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


write to her, quite overlooking the fact that he did 
not even know her name. 

‘‘ I’ll be right glad to hear from you” she assured 
him, “ and I’ll be wanting to know that you’ve got 
back to your mothers. For oh, laddies, laddies ! it’s 
weary work for the mothers, waiting for the boys 
who never come home.” 

She turned quickly and went into the house, and 
they retraced their footsteps down the long lane in 
silence, a thousand new thoughts and emotions stir- 
ring in their young hearts. Before, their concern 
had been chiefly for themselves, and now for the first 
time they were truly disturbed for the trouble they 
had brought upon others. 

It was not until they reached the foot of the lane 
that either of them remembered the two they had left 
on the bank by the creek. 

Gee ! I don’t want to see that bum again,” ex- 
claimed Barney with aversion. 

‘‘ Neither do I, but where’ll we go if we don’t? ” 
objected Sandy. 

After a moment’s discussion it was decided that 
they would return to the tramps. Any kind of 
human companionship was better than facing a night 
of loneliness in such strange surroundings. 

They found the men impatiently awaiting their re- 
turn. Tom greeted them with vile imprecations and 
rudely seized the parcel which Sandy carried under 
his arm. 

He spread it out with exclamations of contempt, 
while Bill placidly smoked his black pipe. The eggs 


RETURN OF THE PRODIGALS 43 


had disappeared in their absence, and Tom proceeded 
to divide the bread and chicken into four parts. 
tacit consent the boys had said nothing about hav- 
ing had supper. When he had divided it to his own 
satisfaction, he gave one part to Bill and coolly ap- 
propriated the other three himself. 

‘^What you doin’ there?” exclaimed Bill 
hotly. Ain’t ye goin’ to give the kids nothin’, ye 
pig?” 

Tom gathered it all in the circle of his left arm and 
fell to with the unrestrained greed of an animal, 
vouchsafing only an inarticulate grunt In reply. 

The boys showed their disgust, but did not look 
particularly disappointed, and Bill shrewdly guessed 
the truth regarding what had happened at the farm. 

He’s a mean cuss ; don’t take no notice of him,” 
he remarked casually. “ But if you’ll take a smoke 
you can have my pipe and tobaccy.” 

After supper they sat around and talked. While 
Tom smoked his tongue loosened and he gave him- 
self up to an abandonment of coarse boasting. He 
had been a tramp and a jail-bird from childhood, and 
his point of view was utterly depraved and unclean. 
His stories seared like a hot iron the souls of the boys 
who listened, and they little guessed that in after life 
there would be moments when they would give worlds 
to obliterate the memory of that hour. 

When dusk was settling Into night they crossed the 
road, and on the other side of the bridge followed a 
cattle path for some distance along the bank of the 
creek, and then up a hill and half way across a field 


44 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


to a barn standing by itself, with no other buildings 
near. 

They built a new bank barn last spring, so they 
keep this for second best,” said Bill, speaking as a 
tailor, while they cautiously filed in and began to 
make their way up to the loft, after passing a pig- 
pen and stumbling over an antiquated cutting box. 

The ladder was narrow and perpendicular, and Bill 
grunted and panted as he slowly drew himself up. 
They found the mow filled with straw and once there 
no one spoke, but each one sought out as comfortable 
a spot as possible and settled down to sleep. In- 
stinctively the two boys drew apart from the others 
and lay close together. 

To Sandy it was a night of unforgetable terrors: 
A night when for the first time in his life sleep re- 
fused to come at the moment his eyes closed. His 
ankle throbbed painfully, his head ached, and the 
tears persisted in coming, though he strove against 
them manfully. He lay awake for hours it seemed 
to him, while the others slept more or less audibly, 
starting up every now and then at the strange unac- 
countable noises breaking into the silence of the 
night. Something seemed to be swooping around in 
the darkness; and there were movements and occa- 
sional breathing just below them which spoke of un- 
utterable possibilities. 

Two or three weeks ago, Sandy in his new 
emancipation had given up saying his prayers, now 
he said every prayer he knew or had ever heard, add- 
ing a few words of petition on his own account. And 


RETURN OF THE PRODIGALS 45 


then thinking some of the thoughts of the prodigal 
son, he fell into a troubled sleep. Towards morning 
he awoke with a startled cry. Someone was bending 
over him in the darkness, a hand groped for an in- 
stant about his chest and then his watch was 
jerked from his pocket. He was wide awake now and 
jumping up threw out his arm to grab the intruder, 
who threw him back against Barney with a muttered 
oath and a heavy kick. 

Oh, he’s got my watch, he’s got my watch. Let’s 
catch him ! ” he cried, scrambling up again. Don’t 
let him get away, Barney, do you hear ! ” 

Barney yelled and made a grab, but he caught 
Sandy’s lame foot in the darkness, causing him to 
howl with pain. 

“ What’s the matter, younguns ? What’s the mat- 
ter.? Can’t you sleep at night when you get a 
chance.?” 

It was Bill’s voice, and he struck a match to see 
the cause of the trouble. By its flickering light no 
one could be seen but themselves. 

Somebody grabbed my watch,” gasped Sandy. 

It’s gone, oh, oh ! Let’s get after him quick.” 

‘^Your watch, great Scott! — where’s Tom?” 
shouted Bill, striking another match but in his ex- 
citement dropping it in the straw. 

By this time Sandy and Barney had felt their way 
to the ladder and they heard Bill floundering around. 
Then there was a swish of the straw, a hoarse shriek, 
a thud, and an awful uproar among the pigs ; Bill had 
fallen into the pig-pen through a hole in the loft. 


46 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


“ Oh, oh ! help ! help ! I’m killed,” he shouted while 
the pigs squealed frantically. “ Hurry up and get 
me out or they’ll eat me alive. Quick ! quick ! ” 

The boys stumbled down the ladder, as best they 
could in their excitement. 

Pandemonium reigned in the pig-pen. Th 3 
animals were frantic with fright; and Bill was too 
short, and fat, and too much battered up 
to climb out. He had carried down so much 
straw with him and had lit square on top of the pigs 
so that he was practically unhurt, though he did not 
know it yet. Just then they saw that the straw in 
the loft was afire where Bill had dropped his match. 

There was not a moment to lose, but they must get 
Bill out. 

Can’t you climb out, you duffer? ” shouted Bar- 
ney wildly, but Bill continued to howl and side step 
out of the way of the pigs. The barn was alight now 
from the fire, and Sandy espied a wooden mallet with 
which he attacked the boards of the pen, and in a 
few moments both Bill and the pigs came pouring out. 

A mile away they sat down exhausted by the road- 
side and watched the burning barn, the boys too 
frightened and awestricken to utter a word ; but Bill 
rubbed his sore shins and gulped out curses on the 
faithless Tom. The flames shot far up into the sky, 
but so far as they could see no one in the whole 
country side had seen the fire, for it was at that hour 
between midnight and dawn when weary country 
people sleep most soundly. 

“ I didn’t know him, the measly pup — No, I didn’t. 


RETURN OF THE PRODIGALS 47 


I only knowed him a week and I didn’t think he was 
a crook like that; honest, I didn’t,” he protested 
weakly. 

V Sandy muttered an unintelligible reply. He was 
too bewildered and sick at heart to heed Bill’s re- 
-marks. 

Yes, he did you dirty, a kid like you what never 
did him no harm, and you’ll be blamin’ it all onto old 
Bill, me that got stuck on you from the minute I 
clapped eyes on you cause you was true sports, you 
and red-head.” 

Sandy assured him that he held him blameless. 

I got what was coming to me, I guess,” he said 
dully. “ I’m up against it this time for fair.” 

“ Jiminy, I near broke my neck in with that bunch 
of pigs ; but say, we’d better hike it out of this. If 
anybody catches us around here they’ll clap us in 
jail for that job,” said Bill, hobbling off and nodding 
over his shoulder towards the fire which was dying 
down by this time. 

The boys started on, for a faint streak of dawn 
was beginning to show itself in the east and they 
separated from Bill to face the most wearying day 
of all. 

They had passed Hamilton the day before and now 
along the Lake Shore road they tramped painfully; 
sometimes getting a ride and twice stopping to pick 
strawberries for fruit farmers in payment for some- 
thing to eat. 

It passed at last as all days will even to the young 
and impatient, and late in the evening they found 


48 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


themselves in the familiar neighborhood of home. 
At Barney’s corner they found the little grocery 
closed, for it was after ten, but a single gas light was 
still burning. For an instant they paused across 
the street, then separated in characteristic fashion. 

‘‘ Well, I guess I’ll have to be going. So long, 
Barney.” 

So long, Sandy ; see you to-morrow.” 

« Huh, huh.” 

Sandy turned to look back just in time to see the 
door open and a little woman rush out crying, “ Bar- 
ney, my boy, my boy ! ” Then he went on his way 
alone with a feeble attempt at a whistle. 

When he reached the imposing house standing back 
in the well-kept lawn, his heart sank and a great lump 
arose in his throat, for the door was closed for the 
night, and not a light showed in any of the win- 
dows. 

Wearily he sank down on the steps of the piazza, 
his head resting in his hands, and his whole body 
drooping with exhaustion. He had not the courage 
to ring the bell and would wait till the milkman came 
in the morning he thought ; then he could slip in when 
the maid opened the side door. 

In the house everything was silent. Mrs. Merrill 
was asleep under the influence of an opiate after days 
and nights of heart-breaking anxiety. Mr. Merrill 
alone was awake. He had been looking for Sandy’s 
return all day, for by use of the telegraph and long- 
distance telephone he had traced the movements of 
the runaways, and knew that they were headed for 



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FIRST AID DRILL 




RETURN OF THE PRODIGALS 49 


home. A wholesome lesson would not be bad for 
them, he thought, and declined to interfere. Now 
alone in the darkened library he was undergoing the 
lashings of an awakened conscience. 

In the great manufacturing concern which bore his 
name, and which owed its success to his energy and his 
devotion to business, there was not a piece of ma- 
chinery to which he had not given more thought than 
he had to his boy. He had never devoted a whole 
day to him in his life, knew nothing about his dreams 
or his companionships, and was hopelessly out of 
touch with him generally. 

He stood with his elbow on the mantel, the soft 
breeze stirring the curtains and wafting in the fra- 
grance of flowers and the subdued murmur of the 
city. His own boyhood had been one of toil and 
hardship, and there flashed upon his memory now an 
incident of his boyhood long forgotten. It was be- 
fore dawn on an October morning on the old farm 
and he, a barefoot boy of fourteen, was creeping down 
the stairs and out to the back field to drive home the 
cows. The white frost lay thick on the ground, and 
by the time he reached the meadow his feet were 
stinging painfully. Then a big red cow got up from 
the ground ; and he sprang on the warm spot, with a 
thrill and a glow which he could feel even yet — How 
he pitied the men who had no such memories. That 
morning he had planned to run away from home to 
see the great world, but had given it up because he 
was the eldest and was needed on the farm. Now he 
had gotten far away from the thoughts and feelings 


50 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


of boyhood ; and would need help, if ever he was to be 
a companion and a chum to his son. 

The clock on the stair solemnly told out the hour 
of eleven, and was promptly followed by the pert little 
French clock on the mantel, as he walked restlessly 
into the hall and to the front door. He had been 
there many times before that evening, but now when 
he opened it a surging wave of joy overwhelmed him, 
for there, worn out and lame and ragged, was Sandy. 
Slowly he arose and faced his father. For a moment 
neither of them spoke. Then Mr. Merrill held out his 
hand, and uttered one word, “ Sandy.” It was 
enough. With a smothered cry Sandy stumbled for- 
ward, and placing his two hands on his father’s 
shoulders, forgot in his wondering joy what a big boy 
he was, remembering only that he was home again 
safe, and in his father’s arms. 

The hour which followed, marked a new era for 
them both. Sandy found in his father a new attitude 
of sympathy and understanding, and soon poured out 
the whole story of his wanderings, keeping nothing 
back, and shouldering all the blame. Together they 
discussed the whole situation and agreed that things 
would have to begin all over again and that they must 
face the future as partners. They visited the silent 
kitchen, and made a raid on the pantry shelves, find- 
ing an array of good things which Sandy attacked 
with such vigor that he had to be dragged away be- 
fore doing himself serious bodily harm. Then very 
quietly they stole upstairs, where with his own hands 
Mr. Merrill prepared the bath, and last of all took 
the boy to his mother. 


CHAPTER IV 


3VHEN FATHER TAKES A HAND 

T WO weeks had passed since his ill-starred adven- 
ture, and Sandy was very busy digging up the 
earth in a corner of the back yard while he cheerily 
whistled, ‘‘The Old Gray Bonnet.” An answering 
whistle, and a succession of short, joyous yelps from 
the lane, told him that Barney and Ginger were ap- 
proaching. As the gate opened to admit them he 
called out: 

“ Say, the world’s coming to an end ! My Dad’s 
interested in baseball.” 

“Goon!” 

“ Sure thing, he’s getting just crazy about it.” 

“ How do you know? ” 

“ Know ! Gee, he doesn’t do a thing but hunt out 
every speck of news he can find. You ought to hear 
him chin about the batting average of the big players 
and a lot of other sporty stuff.” 

“ Gee!” 

“ Oh, he’s got the bug all right. We went to the 
game, yesterday.” 

“ What d’y ou think you’re doin’ there ? ” inter- 
rupted Barney, glancing at the upturned earth. 

51 


52 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


‘‘ Digging for fish worms. We’re going fishing to- 
morrow, want to come? 

“Who’s goin’? ” 

“ Just Dad and me ; he told me to ask you.” 

“No, I guess not. He won’t want me along.” 

“Honest Injun; he told me to be sure and make 
you come.” 

“ All right, give me a spade and I’ll help dig,” 
agreed Barney promptly. 

“ Here you are. J ust drop them into this can ; 
but listen, I’ve got the dandiest news to tell you — 
you’ll never guess where I’m going? 

Barney shook his head, and attacked the hard 
earth. “ Give it up,” he said briefly. 

“ Did you ever hear of Camp Couchiching? ” 

“ No, what is it? ” 

“ Why, it’s a boys’ camp up on Lake Couchiching 
that Dad heard about. It belongs to the central Y. 
M. C. A. and he’s going to send me there for all 
summer; I’m going next week. Isn’t that swell?” 

A twinge of envy shot through Barney’s heart. 
All unknown to Sandy he had stood two or three 
times during the past week before the window of the 
boys’ club on Yonge street where all the delights of 
the camp were pictured so alluringly. How he had 
wished he could go ; but he bent his energies to the 
task of searching for the worms and made a non-com- 
mittal reply. 

“ There’ll be no end of fun,” continued Sandy en- 
thusiastically. “ There’s base ball and swimming 
and canoe trips, besides there’ll be a lot of boy-scouts 


WHEN FATHER TAKES A HAND 53 


there. Dad says I can join the scouts if I want 
to, and I know one thing, I’m going on a canoe 
trip.” 

Barney frowned as he pulled a couple of squirming 
victims from the shovelful of earth he had just turned 
over. Gee, I’m sorry for you” he declared with 
emphasis. 

“ Who.? ” 

‘‘ You. Say, you couldn’t hire me to go there. 
No sirree, not if you offered me a thousand dol- 
lars.” 

“ What for? ” 

Huh, my mother makes me go to Sunday School 
once on Sunday and that’s about enough for 
me.” 

“This is no Sunday School, you lobster ! ” ex- 
claimed Sandy hotly. 

“Taint, eh! Well, that’s just where your Dad’s 
foolin’ you. He is getting you roped in this time 
all right, all right. Why, all these old codgers want 
you up there for, is to talk to you and pray with you 
from morning till night.” 

“ Don’t believe it ! ” 

“ Fact, it’s dead slow up there, no fun at all. You 
got to get up at daylight and go to bed at dark, and 
when there’s visitors you all stand up in a row and 
spout pieces.” 

Oh, rats I you needn’t get so sore because you’re 
not going,” retorted Sandy shortly. “ Come on ; 
we’ve got enough worms now ; you think you know a 
whole lot, you do.” 


54 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


He picked up the can which Ginger was barking 
at and upsetting and started for the shed, followed 
by Barney who was still sullen. 

“ I’m not sore,” he protested doggedly. I don’t 
care anything about your old camp. I’m mighty 
glad I’m not going, that’s all.” 

“ Well, I’m mighty glad I am, so there. I know a 
fellow who was there last year and he says it’s great, 
if you want to know.” 

Barney was in the depths of black despair. It 
was as though Heaven had opened to Sandy while he 
was shut out, but he kept a brave countenance and 
continued to scoff. 

He was quite unprepared for what happened the 
next day on their way home from their fishing trip. 
In the street car Mr. Merrill, who had proved himself 
a good fellow indeed and worthy of any boy’s loyalty, 
remarked casually : 

‘‘ I should like to have you go to camp with Sandy 
if it can be arranged. I will be responsible for all 
expenses and will see your mother about it ; that is, if 
you would like to go.” 

Barney’s feelings were too tumultuous for words. 
He floundered and stammered an unintelligible reply, 
but his glowing face told the whole story. 

Sandy, to whom it was also a delightful surprise, 
was sorely tempted to remark : “ Don’t let him rope 
you in ; it’s dead slow up there but he forebore and 
merely thrust his hands deep into his pockets and with 
his eyes straight ahead of him whistled, Has any- 
body here seen Kelly ? ” with such force and vim that 


WHEN FATHER TAKES A HAND 55 


even the grouchy passenger smiled and said to himself, 
‘‘ Gracious ! What it is to be a boy.” 

The decision to send Sandy to camp had been ar- 
rived at after considerable discussion, and some 
little divergence of opinion on the part of his par- 
ents. 

It was characteristic of Mr. Merrill that when he 
was interested in a thing he was thoroughly inter- 
ested. During the two weeks since the wanderer’s 
return he had had much food for thought. 

Sandy had returned to school meekly enough, but 
the summer vacation was at hand, with its abund- 
ance of idle time and its opportunities for good or 
evil. 

“ I wish I knew what to do with him,” he had said 
to his wife the previous Sunday evening, when the 
matter was referred to as they walked home from 
church, “ I really think the best thing would be to let 
him go out on a farm to work somewhere for the 
summer.” 

“ What an absurd idea ; I think the poor child has 
been punished quite enough without doing that,” ex- 
claimed Mrs. Merrill in a shocked tone, and 
quickened her pace as though to get away from the 
thought. 

‘‘ It isn’t a matter of punishment, but of char- 
acter. I don’t want him to have time enough to get 
into mischief,” amended her husband patiently. 

Where could he be so safe as with his mother and 
sister in a first class hotel? Or where could he meet 
nicer people than at Jackson’s Point? 


56 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


“ Something a little more strenuous would be more 
in character, I imagine.” 

“ Well I think that is what we ought to discourage. 
It would almost kill me to know that Sandy was play- 
ing foot ball or boxing, or any of those horrid things 
that boys do. I know he would get hurt, perhaps 
maimed for life. As for working on a farm; that 
would be really funny, but I know you don’t mean 
it.” 

Mr. Merrill did not answer and the matter was 
dropped. 

The next day, seated at his desk looking over his 
correspondence, he picked up a business communica- 
tion from the Young Men’s Christian Association. 
On the back of it was a sticker ” bearing the words 
“ Have your boy spend his vacation at Camp Cou- 
chiching. Character building. Body building,” etc., 
with directions where to apply for imformation and 
prospectus. 

The idea appealed to him, and he immediately 
called up the telephone number and made an appoint- 
ment with the Camp director. 

He was an admirer of the Association’s work, and 
for years had contributed liberally to its support, 
but had never had time to come in close touch with it. 
In the afternoon he visited the headquarters of the 
Boys’ Club on Yonge street and found the whole 
atmosphere electric with enthusiasm for camp. As 
the opening day was close at hand, committees were 
hard at work. Consignments of goods were being 
prepared for shipment, and boys of all sizes and ages, 


WHEN FATHER TAKES A HAND 57 


with their parents, were adding to the gayety of na- 
tions by besieging the director’s office, to propound 
questions which for the most part had been answered 
dozens of times in prospectuses and in letters. The 
most urgent appeal seemed to be on behalf of boys 
who were under age, thirteen being the age limit for 
boys admitted to camp. 

One fashionably dressed mother, with a red-haired 
boy of eleven in tow, coolly announced that her 
passage to Europe had been engaged, and as she 
had no other place to leave Jim, he just had to go 
to camp. She had telephoned several times about 
the matter, and had now come in person to assure 
the director that there must be no question about 
it. 

There was none, for she emerged from the office 
smiling and triumphant. 

Jim would be ready to go with the party, she said, 
for his outfit was already purchased and his trunk 
packed. Jim walked with his head up, and his chest 
thrown out, looking neither to the right nor to the 
left, in the hope that no one would suspect that he 
was the smallest boy going to camp. 

At the head of affairs, his face glowing with en- 
thusiasm, now found in the office and again in the 
furthermost part of the building, guiding, directing, 
enthusing was the Big Chief,” the secretary of the 
club, and the maker of the camp. Once in the dark 
ages before he took hold of the club he had had an- 
other name, but that was forgotten long ago, and ex- 
cept on formal occasions the boys only knew him by 


58 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


the title of affection and respect they had given him 
themselves. 

Mr. Merrill found him in the office dictating let- 
ters, answering queries through the telephone, and 
by means of messengers, directing half a dozen dif- 
ferent activities throughout the building. But he 
found time to give unhurried attention to Sandy’s 
case and was as greatly interested as if there had 
not been another boy within a hundred miles. He 
was a young man, still in the twenties, and as Mr, 
Merrill looked into the alert, eager face, the eyes 
filled with the light of a great purpose, he felt that 
here was a man who had stood face to face with all 
a boy’s problems; who had fought the hardest bat- 
tles a boy has to fight and had not forgotten. He 
could safely confide Sandy to his care. The details 
were soon arranged, and he went away with a feeling 
of immense relief. 

That had all happened several days ago, and now 
that the boys were let into the secret, little else was 
thought of, or talked of, but camp. 

The idea of sending Barney had come as an after 
thought, and his mother raised slight objection to his 
accompanying Sandy when Mr. Merrill interviewed 
her on the subject. Her younger boy had learned to 
do the errands pretty well, and as Mr. Merrill had 
offered to meet every expense she was grateful for 
Barney’s opportunity. 

As only two or three days remained, there was a 
great scurrying for camp uniforms and other requi- 
sites. 


WHEN FATHER TAKES A HAND 59 


Sandy was so excited, and so noisy that the house- 
hold was driven to distraction. 

Besides the regulation outfit required by camp 
rules, he had a list of his own which included every- 
thing from a trolling-spoon and a hunting knife, to 
a shot gun and a folding canvas canoe, and was 
deeply disappointed when he had to give up every- 
thing but the first. 

His mind was fairly rioting in anticipation of 
canoe trips, camp fires and scout games, and he won- 
dered if anything really worth while would happen, 
such as getting lost in the woods or being captured — 
but then, pshaw — there were no real wild Indians 
nowadays. 

It was a great moment when he arrayed himself 
in the camp uniform for the first time; gray flannel 
shirt, long khaki trousers, running shoes, and al- 
though the day was sweltering hot, a gray and red 
sweater-coat bearing the crest of the Central Young 
Men’s Christian Association. He surveyed himself 
with a deep breath of satisfaction, in the mirror and 
then started downstairs to look for his mother and 
Alice, but they had gone out, and he rushed into the 
kitchen to exhibit himself to Norah, who was deep in 
the mysteries of gooseberry jam. 

Well, and what have yuh got on yuh now ? ” she 
demanded, as she turned around and eyed him disap- 
provingly. 

“ This is my camp suit, Norah. How do you 
like it? ” 

“ Indade, and it’s no beauty, thin.” 


60 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


“ Oh, go on, I think it’s just swell. Just get on to 
the long trousers, will you? ” 

“ Them y aller things ? ” 

“ Sure, that’s the best part of the whole outfit. 
It’s khaki. Everybody in camp is to be dressed 
alike,” said Sandy, diving his hands into the pockets 
and strutting around to show them off to better ad- 
vantage. 

Norah stirred her jam and cast another glance in 
his direction. 

“ And what does them letters on your ganzy stand 
for? ” she asked. 

“ That’s no ‘ ganzy,’ that’s a sweater-coat. T. C. 
stands for Toronto Central — and ” 

Norah dropped her spoon into the boiling jam. 
“ Glory be to Peter ! Is that where they’re sendin’ 
yuh now ? ” she cried. “ Drat them, I might have 
knowed it. Sure, I know they’re all dressed alike 
there. I went one time to see a b’y from the County 
Clare that I knowed at home. He was in for three 
years, and yuh couldn’t have told one from the other 
of thim. They was like as peas in a pod. Their 
hair was clipped and ” 

Sandy interrupted her with a shout. “ Aw, 
Norah, now where do you think I’m going? ” he de- 
manded. 

“ To the Cintral, yuh said it yourself.” 

“ That’s one on you. It’s Toronto Central 
Y. M. C. A., not Central Prison. What did you 
think I was going to jail for? ” 

Norah surveyed him from head to foot, and then 


WHEN FATHER TAKES A HAND 61 


with a toss of her head, which did not altogether hide 
the twinkle in her eye, she said : 

“ Indeed and there’s no tellin’ with the likes of 
yuh, but come here, till I show you something, and 
now mind, don’t yuh tell a single soul.” 

She led the way into the pantry with an air of 
mystery, and lifting a substantial looking box from 
an upper shelf, remarked : ‘‘ I’m going to see that you 
don’t starve this trip, jail or no jail.” 

She lifted the lid and revealed to Sandy’s delighted 
gaze a collection of good things which made his 
mouth water. There was a large fruit cake, thick 
with the whitest of icing, a batch of cookies, a box of 
fudge and a chocolate layer cake. 

‘‘ That’s to go in your trunk last thing, and if they 
don’t feed yuh well, just let me know and I’ll send 
yuh more,” she said, and snapped the lid down quickly 
lest he might try to sample them before the 
time. 

Norah, you’re a brick,” he declared admiringly. 
‘‘ I won’t forget you for this, you bet.” 

‘‘ Aw, go on with yuh, now, and let me git on with 
me work. Out of this with your yaller breetches, I 
say.” 

With a shout Sandy was gone, and Norah returned 
to her work, a softened expression on her grim face. 

‘‘ Indeed, and the house ’ll just be dead widout the 
little divil,” she sighed, and wiped her eyes with a 
corner of her apron. 

At the last moment, when his trunk had been 
packed and the expressman was expected at any mo- 


62 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


ment, Sandy was alone, and he stood hesitating for 
just an instant. Then he dived under the wardrobe 
and brought out a package which he quickly depos- 
ited deep in the furthermost corner of the trunk be- 
side his little Bible, before locking it. He did not 
feel altogether happy about it when he thought of 
his father, but how could he face the scorn of the 
true sports in camp if he did not smoke cigarettes 
or play a game of cards or craps. His father could 
not understand — anyway he would not know. 


V 


CHAPTER y 


THE MURDERER 

T he antiquated old union station at Toronto 
has been the scene of many a tumultuous greet- 
ing and farewell, but never has it harbored more 
thrills than on the morning when the boys went to 
camp. 

When Sandy and Barney arrived, each armed with 
a lunchbox and a paddle, they found it full to over- 
flowing, for though the train was an early one, each 
of the seventy boys was accompanied by several fond 
relatives, and the Chief was besieged with warnings 
and instructions regarding his lively charge. 

Be sure and see that Henry does not sleep in 
damp clothes.” 

“ Don’t let Alfred run too much.” 

“ Please try and straighten Harold’s round shoul- 
ders.” 

“ John is careless in his table manners. Be strict 
with him, please.” 

The Chief tried to pigeon hole these requests in his 
mind for future reference, and in most cases was 
successful. 

Sandy was undisturbed when he saw his father 
greet the Chief cordially and pause for a few words 
with him, but when his mother, with the look in her 
63 


64 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


face which he knew so well, edged her waj through 
the crowd in that direction, he felt exceedingly un- 
comfortable. He was not near enough to hear her 
words, but he watched her dejectedly as she opened 
the conversation, and then as a sudden onslaught 
from several other anxious parents swept her off her 
feet before the Chief could reply, he wanted to 
cheer. 

Barney’s hard-working little mother was content 
to simply watch for the last glimpse of her boy, and 
turn away with tear-dimmed eyes, no one in that 
well-dressed, comfortable throng guessing the sacri- 
fice she was making that Barney might have his 
chance. 

At last the train moved off amid the shouts of the 
boys, and the farewell waving of handkerchiefs from 
the parents. 

“ Gee, I’m glad that’s over, anyway. I hate fuss ! ” 
exclaimed Barney, as he tugged at a refractory win- 
dow to open it. 

Sandy did not answer. He was looking from one 
to the other of the men and boys who were to be his 
companions for the next few weeks, and who seemed 
to know each other so well. They had the last car 
in the train to themselves and as they sped out of 
the city limits, and farther into the country, the spir- 
its of the party rose higher and higher. As mile 
after mile piled up the distance between them and 
the commonplaces of everyday life, the very wheels 
under the car seemed to sing of freedom and adven- 


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THE MURDERER 


65 


Suddenly Sandy caught sight of two familiar faces 
at the further end of the car. 

“ There’s Harvey Jameison down there, and Jim 
Phillips. Isn’t that great ! ” he cried, delighted to 
see the faces of two old acquaintances. 

“ Sure, so it is. What toggery’s that Harvey’s 
got on? ” 

“ That’s the boy scout uniform ; I never knew he 
belonged.” 

“ Neither did I,” returned Barney, as he excitedly 
bolted down the aisle. “ Hey, there, you Harvey, 
don’t you know a fellow? ” 

A tall boy of sixteen, with a thoughtful face and 
an expansive smile, looked back. “ Why, hello, 
Barney,” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “ I 
didn’t know you were coming to camp, and Sandy 
too. Say, that’s great ! ” 

He and Jim Phillips joined them in the double seat 
and there were many questions to be asked and an- 
swered. 

“ How long are you fellows going to stay? ” asked 
Harvey. 

“ To the end of camp if we want to,” said Sandy. 

You’ll want to, all right.” 

Have you ever been before? ” 

‘‘You bet. This is my fourth year. I wouldn’t 
miss it for a farm,” replied Harvey, whose camp nick- 
name it turned out, was “ Tim.” 

“ Mine too,” said Jim Phillips, while Sandy 
and Barney looked in awe upon such ripe experi- 


ence. 


66 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


T 


“ When did you j oin the scouts ? ” demanded 
Sandy. 

“ Three months ago. I’m leader of our pa- 
trol.” 

‘‘ Phew, but that’s a dinky suit you’ve got on. Do 
you suppose I could join up at camp? ” 

You might. Why don’t you speak to the Chief 
about it ? ” 

“ I will. I’ll do it this very day,” declared Sandy 
emphatically. Down deep, in his heart of hearts, to 
be a real scout had always been his dearest wish ; de- 
tective had only been second choice. 

At this juncture two other boys of fifteen joined 
them and were introduced as Billy Browne and 
“ Fat ” Wolcott. Both had been at camp before, 
and were eager to give all the information possible 
to the newcomers. 

Do you know what tent you are going to be in? ” 
asked Jim Phillips. 

‘‘ No, never thought of it,” said both boys in a 
breath. 

“ Well, it doesn’t matter much. The Chief ’ll fix 
you up all right.” 

“ We didn’t know anything about the tents. How 
do you work it? ” asked Sandy. 

“ Why, there’s a tent for every six or eight fel- 
lows and a leader. You kind of like to get in with 
the bunch you pull with best, because it makes it 
easier in the long run when everybody works for the 
honor of their tent. You see it’s this way; every 
point you make through the day counts so much for 


I 




THE MURDERER 


67 


your tent, and the tent that gets most points one 
day flies the honor flag the next,” 

« Oh!” 

‘‘So you see it’s up to every fellow in the tent to 
do his best.” 

“ How do you get the points ? ” 

“ Oh, for almost everything. For instance, when 
the bugle blows in the morning for everybody out of 
tents, the tent that has a full turn-out gets twenty- 
five points. If there isn’t a full turn-out, there’s 
five points off for every fellow absent. Then there 
are five points for every fellow on a winning team. 
In fact, it’s points on or points off all day. So if 
you work hard yourself. You don’t want the other 
guys losing points for you.” 

“ That’s right.” 

“ Do you know any of the leaders.? ” asked Billy 
Browne, 

“ No, we don’t know anybody,” returned Barney 
with a sigh. 

“ Well, say, we’ve got the classiest bunch of leaders 
this year you ever saw. See that tall fellow over 
there.? Yes, the one in the end seat talking to the 
two scouts. That’s Bob Sparling, the champion mile 
runner of Canada. Then two seats this way is Jack 
Carewe, the Marathon runner. You ought to know 
them from their pictures in the papers.” 

Barney wriggled in his seat with delight. 

“ Gee, we’re all right ! ” he exploded. 

“ You bet, and talk about champions. Why, we’ve 
got boy champions to burn here. There’s the cham- 


68 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


pion boy fencer, the champion boy swimmer and a 
dozen other kids just strung with medals.” 

« Gee!” 

“ Yes, and about the leaders,” remarked Harvey. 
“ There’s Adams, the scout master. I’m to be in his 
tent. He’s all to the good, I can tell you. Jerry 
Walker and Dad Farrington are old standbys. Camp 
wouldn’t be camp without them. And Griswold. 
Say, you ought to know Griswold, Sandy. Maybe 
you could get into his tent. That’s him in the aisle 
talking to Chief.” 

Sandy glanced curiously in the direction indicated. 
“ Why, he’s no leader,” he asserted promptly. “ He’s 
one of the boys ; anybody can tell that.” 

“ Guess again,” laughed Harvey. “ He isn’t as 
young as he looks. I’ll bet he’s twenty-seven if he’s 
a day.” 

« Go on!” 

“ Sure thing. He’s been a missionary or some- 
thing of that sort out west. He graduated from 
some college out there two or three years ago and 
has been working in railroad construction camps and 
in the lumber woods and mines ever since, until he 
came to Toronto. He’s going back soon to do 
Y. M. C. A. work, I think.” 

Sandy saw a slim young fellow, with a boyish face 
and wavy brown hair, his eyes sparkling with inter- 
est in the matter he was discussing with the Chief. 

“ He looks like a kid,” he sniffed and turned his 
attention the other way. 

“ Oh, look here ! ” broke in “ Fat ” Wolcott^ 


THE MURDERER 69 

since you folks are in the business of introducing 
leaders you mustn’t forget the Admiral.” 

“ Great Scott, no, that would never do,” cried Billy 
Browne. “ Behold him there, administering rebuke to 
two unlucky kids. They’ve forgotten to give him the 
proper salute. I’ll bet a cent. There, didn’t I tell 
you. He’s making them give the full salute. He’s 
an assistant scoutmaster now, and he can’t forget it. 
He certainly is the limit.” 

“ What do you call him Admiral for? ” asked Bar- 
ney. 

Oh, he seems to know a good deal about sail- 
boats. Lived by the sea in England, I think. The 
fellows have been out sailing with him quite a lot.” 

‘‘ He isn’t a bad sailor, but he’s a bum scout,” said 
Harvey with a grin. 

Well, take my word for it, the Chief’s drawn a 
lemon for once,” nodded “ Fat ” sagely. 

‘‘ Wherever you see him you may safely bet he’s 
talking about scout work,” continued Harvey. “ He 
never talks about anything else. He has studied 
the book Scouting for Boys until he knows it by 
heart, but set him down in a ten-acre woods and he 
wouldn’t know how to get out of it.” 

The young man in question was very tall, very 
stout and very pompous, and moved restlessly about 
from one group to another, giving Information or re- 
proof as occasion required. He was apparently 
about twenty-two, and was dressed in full scoutmas- 
ter’s uniform, every detail of which bore evidence to 
having been donned for the first time. That he took 


70 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


himself seriously there was no doubt, but only the 
younger boys were at all impressed. 

The talk about Sandy and Barney shifted to camp 
reminiscences and plans for the future, and presently 
the group dispersed. 

The day was hot and the car stuffy, but that did 
not dampen the spirits of the party. At every stop- 
ping place club yells and popular songs awoke the 
echoes, and apprised the natives that Camp Couchi- 
ching was once more on the move. 

Someone had an original song which caught the 
popular ear at once, and soon the whole car was sing- 
ing with a vim : 

In dear old Toronto 
We used to sing. 

But life is sweeter at Couchiching. 

We eat big dinners. 

Swim, row, and play. 

And we grow fatter 
The live-long day, 

Couchiching, Couchiching, 

Toronto Y. M. C. A. 

On the job both night and day, 
Couchiching, Couchiching. 

The high good humor of the party was infectious, 
and as the train drew out from a station it invariably 
left behind it a group of smiling faces. Many a man 
who had been grumbling at the weather and things in 


THE MURDERER 


71 


general, turned to his work with a song, forgetting 
the heat and discomfort, and remembering only that 
it was good to be alive. 

There was much running back and forth in the 
car and eating of lunches, much exchanging of camp 
stories and planning for the future. 

The train was a leisurely one, stopping at every 
station, and was the subject of many jokes and some 
complaint. Once it stopped with a sudden jerk 
where there was not even a way station. 

“ This is where the engineer and fireman stop to 
swap chaws with the farmer in the next field,” cheer- 
fully remarked a boy who had been down to the 
water-cooler for the fourteenth time. 

A solemn looking youth who had been immersed 
in a book most of the morning, looked up casually 
and said : 

“ Well, you just wait till we get a little farther on, 
where we go so slow that they have to turn the cow- 
catcher around and put it on the back, to keep the 
cows from climbing onto the train to bite the passen- 
gers.” 

It was the first remark he had volunteered in an 
liour and a half, and it was met with howls of derision. 
A dozen boys jostled around him at once. 

“ Oh ! Oh ! Wait till we get to Jackson’s Point. 
It’ll be the drink for yours,” they cried. “ We could 
never let you off with a joke like that. It’s so old 
that it’s got whiskers.” 

The joker coolly extricated himself from the en- 
tangling hands and feet. “ Pitch me in as soon as 


72 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


you like ; I’m hot enough to stand it,” he agreed, and 
returned to his book once more, deaf to challenges 
and threats. 

Fifteen minutes later, at Rossville station, a most 
exciting incident occurred, and one which had special 
interest for Sandy and Barney. 

As the train drew into the little station it was seen 
that an excited crowd surged all around it. People 
pushed and shoved, and necks were craned, as on tip- 
toe they tried to get a view of something which was 
not yet apparent from the train. The boys leaned 
out of the windows, eager to see if it was a fight or 
only a Sunday School picnic. Sandy noticed the 
stern faces of the crowd as the train came to a stand- 
still, and wondered what it was all about. Then the 
door of the station flew open. The crowd parted, and 
three men walked out side by side. The one in the 
center, a cowed, villainous looking creature, with 
shuffling gait and eyes which shot furtive glances 
from side to side, was handcuffed, and on each side of 
him was a burly county constable. It took them 
but an instant to reach the train, but it was enough 
for Sandy to recognize the prisoner. 

“ 0-oh, look, Barney, look ! It’s Tom ! ” he cried 
aloud, his face grown white with agitation. 

The prisoner heard, and his evil eyes flashed recog- 
nition as he was hustled into the next car. Then the 
train started on its way and the boys looked in each 
other’s faces. What did it all mean? 

When Sandy drew his head in, he found the Chief 
beside him. 


THE MURDERER 


73 


What is it ? What has he done ? ” he cried ex- 
citedly. “ He’s the fellow that stole my watch, and 
I want it ! ” 

“ How did he come to steal your watch? Sit down 
and tell me about it.” 

Sandy’s eyes fell, and he made no reply. How 
could he tell the Chief about that miserable night? 
But he looked up and found the dark eyes boring 
straight through him, and it seemed to him, finding 
out his innermost secrets. 

♦ 

“ It was when I ran away from home,” he fal- 
tered. “We were sleeping in a barn. There were 
two tramps. This fellow and another one. The 
other one was on the square, but this — this bum 
stole my watch, and got away with it.” 

The Chief was full of interest. “ You were lucky 
only to lose your watch,” he said impressively. 
“ Have you seen to-day’s papers ? ” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Look at this, then,” he said, producing a Morn- 
ing Globe, The boys looked over the page he in- 
dicated and found a picture of Tom, together with an 
account of the cold-blooded murder of an aged farmer 
and his wife. 

The whole countryside was wrought up over it, and 
the murderer was soon captured. He was now on 
his way to the jail in the county town, where he would 
be tried. 

“ You had better telephone to your father when 
you get to camp, and he will know what steps to take 
regarding the watch,” advised the Chief. “ Now 


74 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


Tim Jameison has been speaking to me about put- 
ting you fellows in with Griswold. I think that will 
be a good arrangement. The other fellows are about 
your age, and they’re fine fellows, all of them. Come 
now, and I will introduce you.” 

“ Griswold, here are two of your boys whom I want 
you to meet ; Sandy Merrill and Barney Allen. They 
will be with you right through camp, I hope.” 

Hugh Griswold turned eagerly, and before the in- 
troduction was finished had grasped them each 
warmly by the hand. 

“ My boys,” he repeated with emphasis. Now 
doesn’t that sound good? Do you know I have just 
been wondering who among all these boys were to be 
with me during the next few weeks. I know two or 
three, but had no idea who the others were to be. Sit 
down and let us get acquainted.” 

He led the way to an empty seat as he talked. 

“ You see, I have never been to camp before,” he 
continued, seating himself opposite to them. “ And 
so all these old campers have the advantage of me, but 
I’ve been doing my b^st to learn all about it.” 

Sandy leaned forward, the light of hope dawning 
in his face. Here was somebody after all who did not 
know everything. 

‘‘ Can you swim?” he whispered confidentially. 

Hugh Griswold was gifted with undeistanding, 
and he merely nodded and said, “ Yes, I can now, I 
couldn’t when I was your age though.” Then as an 
afterthought he added, ‘‘ The man who is to teach 
swimming this year is the best in the country.” 


THE MURDERER 


75 


Sandy drew a deep breath as he sat back, and Gris- 
wold changed the subject. Soon they were laughing 
and chatting as gayly as if they had known one an- 
other always. Griswold was a born story-teller, and 
every little incident, as he told it, was alive with in- 
terest. 

A little later, Sandy sought out Harvey Jamei- 
son. 

‘‘ I say, Harvey,” he said eagerly, ‘‘ I think that 
was real decent of you, to speak to Chief for us.” 

“ Oh that wasn’t anything,” laughed Harvey. 
‘‘I was just brushing up my Camp Couchiching 
spirit, that was all.” 

What’s your Camp Couchiching spirit.^ I’ve 
heard several people talking about it to-day.” 

“ Well, it’s time you knew about it. It’s the spirit 
of ^ help the other fellow ’ and let me warn you right 
here, that you’re supposed to be so chock full of it 
that if anybody iolts you it spills right over.” 

“ Huh! I think I see it.” 

‘‘ It’s a fact. I tell you there’s no end to the 
things you two kids have got to learn, but never mind 
you’ll ” 

The sentence was never finished. There was a sud- 
den awful crash, tlie indescribable roar of splintering 
timbers, twisting steel, and shattering glass, mingled 
with the hoarse cry of horror from many throats. 
Boys were thrown about with irresistible force, while 
the car careened violently from side to side. Then 
the long train was still, a broken and twisted thing, 
in the midst of a strip of woodland, three miles from 
the nearest station. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE WRECK 

T he hot sun beat pitilessly down upon the scene 
of the wreck, as the boys with blanched faces 
stumbled into the open air, many of them bruised and 
badly shaken, but not one seriously hurt, owing to 
the fact that they were in the rear car. They were 
dazed at the sight that confronted them outside. 

The engine and baggage car were in the ditch, 
mixed up with part of a freight train into which they 
had run. The other coaches were derailed and 
partly overturned. 

The freight train had become stalled owing to a 
broken coupling, and a man had been sent back to 
flag the oncoming passenger just one minute too late. 
The engineer was dead, with his hand at the throttle. 

With the exception of two or three men from the 
freight train there was not an employe who was not 
among the injured. The overturned coaches were 
filled with suffering humanity, and their cries called 
for instant action. 

The Chief’s vehement “ Come on, fellows,” was not 
needed, in fact, few heard him. The need was so 
great, that it appealed to every man and boy there. 
It was Toronto Central to the rescue ” and every- 
body turned in to help. 


T6 


THE WRECK 


77 


The first car was so j ammed, that there was no way 
out except through the windows. As this was one 
of the old type of passenger coaches, with small win- 
dows, it made the work of rescue doubly difficult. 

John Farrington, otherwise known as “ Dad,” 
solved the difficulty by securing the ax from the rear 
car, and by a few mighty strokes, broke a way 
through. Here were the most desperately wounded, 
utterly unable to help themselves. Some of them were 
women and little children, and they had to be lifted 
out and cared for until help arrived. A few had gone 
beyond the need of earthly help, and their bodies 
were laid reverently side by side, in the long grass. 

For the first time in his life, Sandy was wholly de- 
voted to the service of others. He had a bruised 
shoulder and Barney’s wrist was sprained, but neither 
of them knew it. 

Sandy’s coat went under the head of an injured 
girl, and he worked untiringly under Jerry Walker’s 
direction, breaking off cedar boughs to screen the 
wounded from the heat of the sun. He saw the 
young men working in frantic haste, but did not know 
that it was fear of fire that was urging them on to 
such superhuman effort. 

“ Look who they’ve got now !” exclaimed Barney, 
pointing to the second car, where the Chief was in 
command. 

Sandy looked up from his work, and saw Tom 
being bundled out of the car. He was still hand- 
cuffed, but otherwise unscathed. 

The Chief stared at this unexpected find with a 


78 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


new sense of responsibility. He had forgotten all 
about the prisoner. Both constables were disabled, 
and had to be cared for, and now someone must be 
detailed to look after the prisoner. 

The Chief’s lips tightened. It was just like a 
fellow like that, to escape without a scratch, he 
thought impatiently. 

There was John Farrington, the strong man of 
camp; he would give him into his care, he decided. 

Call Dad,” he said to the nearest boy. 

Dad, can you take this fellow, and guard him till 
he is taken oif our hands? ” he asked quickly, as Far- 
rington hurried over, wiping the beads of perspira- 
tion from his face. 

Dad’s countenance fell. Yes, I suppose so,” 
he said reluctantly, “ but I wish you would get some- 
one else; I am needed badly back there. Fire may 
break out at any minute in spite of our precau- 
tions.” 

The Chief looked perplexed. Griswold, Jerry 
Walker, Adams, and every other leader, and big boy, 
was needed for the work of rescue. 

Jack Carewe was off on a three-mile dash for the 
nearest station, and Bob Sparling, as a third year 
medical man, was in charge of the first aid corps. 
Not one of them could be spared. Then his eye fell 
on the Admiral, who had been sputtering about on 
the outer edge of things, his khaki uniform still im- 
maculate. 

‘‘ Crawford,” he called peremptorily, ‘‘ I want you 
to take this man as your prisoner. He is a danger- 


THE WRECK 


79 


ous criminal, and you are now responsible for him. 
You will govern yourself accordingly.” 

The Admiral looked as though he wanted to re- 
monstrate, but instead turned sullenly to the pris- 
oner, who was standing like a hunted animal, inwardly 
cursing the handcuffs which bound him. They took 
each other’s measure at a glance, and the result was a 
feeling of contempt on both sides. Tom cast his eyes 
to the ground, to hide the gleam of hope that shot up 
into them, while the Admiral ordered him to a spot 
near the overturned engine and freight cars, where 
there was a patch of shade. Sandy glanced at them 
with keen interest from time to time, in the intervals 
of his coming and going on errands for the rescuers. 
He wished he could get at the truth concerning his 
watch. For twenty minutes, he saw them always in 
the same position, Tom blinking stupidly in the sun ; 
while the Admiral sat haughtily erect in the shade 
of a maple sapling. Then half a dozen boys gath- 
ered around, and the Admiral sprang to his feet. 

“ It’s dashed nonsense, nothing but dashed non- 
sense,” he exploded. “ What do they think I am, a 
policeman.? My word, but I feel flattered.” 

He strode up and down, airing his outraged dig- 
nity, while the prisoner scowled darkly at the intrud- 
ers. They saw it, and were all the more content to 
stay. They were a group who had been around the 
Admiral a great deal during the morning, and were 
very much at home with him. They were not anx- 
ious for work, and were not averse to mischief, even 
under these tragic circumstances. In a few minutes 


80 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


they had the Admiral deep in a discussion of sema- 
phore signaling. 

Sandy stood still to watch them; then he heard 
Griswold’s voice. 

“ Sandy, we need some water badly,” he said. 
“ The trainmen say that you will find a creek on 
the other side of the woods, to the right. It is ai 
the foot of a steep bank. Here is a pail, and be as 
quick as you can.” 

Sandy sprang to obey. I’ll be back right away,” 
he called back as he hurried down the track, and over 
the fence into the woods. He hastened through the 
cool woods, swinging the red pail, until he came to 
the bank. He found it a steep one, with a narrow 
rivulet singing along at the bottom. When he got 
down, he found that the pail was too large to be of 
any use in dipping up the water. He wished that 
he had remembered to bring the tin cup from the 
rear car. Then he thought of his cloth cap, and 
dipped the water up with it. It was a slow process, 
and he knelt in the soft moss where the water was the 
deepest, patiently filling his cap and then whisking 
it into the pail. 

When it was accomplished, he started up the bank 
again, but he found this a much harder task than 
going down. The pail was heavy, and there seemed 
no safe footing anywhere. 

Little by little, however, with infinite care, he got 
safely] up, without spilling a drop of the precious 
water. 

At the top, he set it down for a moment to rest his 


THE WRECK 


81 


aching shoulder, of which he was just beginning to 
be aware. How beautifully cool and peaceful every- 
thing was. It was a pine woods covered thickly with 
a rich, brown, carpet of needles. The wind whispered 
through the tops of the trees and the birds sang as 
gaily, as if there had not been a tragedy within a 
hundred miles of it. 

True to his nature, Sandy was all at once carried 
away with the romance of it. As he picked up his 
pail, he was a scout trying to make his way through 
an enemy’s country, and he must do It as silently, and 
as quickly as possible. In his enthusiasm over this 
idea he glided from tree trunk to tree trunk, care- 
fully avoiding anything which might crackle under 
foot, and screening himself behind underbrush wher- 
ever he found it. 

So real did the idea become to him, that as he 
neared the edge of the woods, he found himself strain- 
ing his ears to hear the footfall of a possible enemy. 

He was near the track now, screened behind a low 
undergrowth of cedar, when he stopped and listened. 

Yes, surely he heard stealthy movements. Why 
should he be afraid.? He could not tell, and yet his 
heart beat faster, and an unaccountable fear took 
possession of him. 

He set the pail down and waited. Once more he 
heard it. A rustling among the leaves, then swift 
footsteps coming straight upon him. Bracing him- 
self to meet it, he stepped out, and found himself face 
to face with — Tom. 

For a second they stood, as though turned to 


82 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


stone, looking Into each other’s faces, the murderer’s 
face bearing a snarl, like an animal ready to spring. 
Then Sandy realized what had happened. The man 
was escaping. At that instant he forgot every other 
consideration. This thief and murderer must not get 
away. 

With a great cry for help, he hurled himself upon 
him, hoping to bear him down. Tom’s hands were 
still manacled, but he was a giant of brute strength, 
and he was desperate. Sandy got his arms about his 
neck, and held on, shouting, in hopes that someone 
would come. Tom hissed awful curses, and then 
Sandy felt his hot breath on his neck, and his teeth 
sinking into his quivering shoulder. 

He grew faint with the pain, and then he was torn 
from his hold, and dashed with terrific force against 
something, he knew not what. After that everything 
was dark. 

When he came to himself, someone was bathing his 
head with cold water, and he opened his eyes to see 
Hugh Griswold bending over him. For a moment 
he could not remember. Then it all came back to 
him and he tried to sit up. The throbbing pain in 
his head made him sink back, but he asked in eager 
tones : 

Did he get away? ” 

Griswold smiled reassuringly. No, sirree, he did 
not,” he answered emphatically. ‘‘ Thanks to you, 
we got him.” 

Sandy closed his eyes with a feeling of relief, and 
Griswold continued ; 


THE WRECK 


SS 


You see he slipped away while those — ^while the 
Admiral was giving the boys some instruction in sig- 
naling. He had just been missed, and the fellows 
were out searching for him when we heard you. You 
did the work of a man to-day, always remember that.” 

Sandy looked up into the fine sensitive face, so 
boyish, because so full of human enthusiasm, and felt 
a wave of joy sweep over him, such as he had never 
known before. “ A man’s work ! ” he certainly would 
remember all his life. 

“ I must get up,” he said, and struggled to his feet, 
just as Barney swept down upon him. 

His head had struck a tree, and was aching pain- 
fully, and his shoulder was bleeding, where the 
wretch’s teeth had torn him, but he managed to walk 
back to the scene of the wreck, just as the relief train 
came in. 

Doctors were there with aid of all kinds, and soon 
the wounded and suffering were on board and being 
properly cared for. The murderer was kept under 
strict guard, with no chance of escape and soon they 
were on their way once more. 

Sandy found himself something of a hero, which 
embarrassed him considerably, but he was glad that 
everybody seemed to know him now, and that made 
things easier. 


CHAPTER VII 


AT CAMP 


S the gray dawn was stealing over Camp Cou- 



chiching the next morning, the first object to 
take form out of the surrounding darkness was the 
solidly built pavilion, with its offices, kitchen, and din- 
ing hall. It stood on slightly elevated ground, and 
looked out from the office side over the running-track, 
enclosing the big athletic field, and on the other, to 
the tennis and volley ball courts. 

From the end of the dining hall where the broad 
steps led down to the open field, could be seen the dim 
outlines of the tents standing in a ghostly semicircle, 
and behind them the somber depths of the wooded 
point, running out into Lake Couchiching, for some- 
thing less than a quarter of a mile. 

Gradually the darkness vanished, and the sun all 
red with the promise of a hot day, shot beams of fire 
through the fringe of elm and maple to the east of 
the camp. 

Down in the woods, a regiment of bob-tailed young 
crows were sitting in straight lines on branches, listen- 
ing to instructions from their elders, regarding this 
new invasion of their domains. There was much open- 
mouthed wonder, and caw-cawing from the younger 
set, as one wise old crow, the colonel of the regiment, 


AT CAMP 


85 


informed them that these wild looking creatures soon 
to emerge from the white tents, and known to hu- 
mans as boys, were perfectly harmless, so far as 
crows were concerned: whereat the bobtails set up 
a deafening caw-cawing, which was crow for three 
cheers and a tiger. They had learned that all boys 
were not enemies. 

Another irregular troop moved on the camp at 
dawn. They used guerilla tactics, and their object 
was plunder. Even the youngest baby red squirrel 
needed no instructor to tell him where candy and cake 
boxes were to be found unguarded. 

While the boys slept, they industriously removed 
everything eatable that they could find. 

Just as the sun was climbing to where it could 
look over the tops of the trees, a man stepped out 
from one of the tents, and walking over to the front 
of the pavilion, blew three sharp blasts on a slender 
brass horn. 

Instantly the camp was awake. Never, in all its 
history had it slept so late on its opening morning. 

As a matter of fact, it had just rightly settled 
down to sleep. The unusual occurrences of the day 
before, and the consequent late arrival in camp, were 
the causes of this unprecedented stillness on a first 
morning. 

But there was no dawdling in getting out of the 
tents at least. Everyone was too anxious to get 
their first glimpse of Camp Couchiching by daylight. 
Out of every tent poured a group of pajama-clad 
figures, and at the third signal from the man with the 


86 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


horn, there was a general rush for the athletic field 
for the setting-up exercise. 

Sandy was stiff from his experience of yesterday, 
his shoulder was sore, and his head still ached some, 
but he would not have missed it for anything. 

It was a beautiful world he looked upon this morn- 
ing. The fields, the woods, the glistening crescent 
of white tents, and the shimmering waters of Lake 
Couchiching, all fiooded with golden sunlight. The 
boys, too, were as frisky as young colts, but they got 
quickly into line under orders from the physical di- 
rector. The exercise was altogether new to Sandy, 
and he tried in vain to touch the ground without 
bending his knees. 

Now wouldn’t that jar you! ” exclaimed Barney 
disgustedly, as he also strained his muscles to do the 
impossible. 

“ I don’t see how those kids manage it anyway,” 
grunted Sandy in reply. 

Aw, look at me, you little sawed-off, and tell 
me what you’d do if you had as far to go as I 
have.” 

Sandy turned quickly to the speaker, who was di- 
rectly behind him, and saw the tallest and thinnest 
boy he had ever beheld. He was about sixteen, and 
had a whimsical, good-natured face. 

‘‘ It’s a regular cinch,” he asserted, and proceeded 
to describe a half circle with his arms, and laid his 
hands palms downward on the ground, without bend- 
ing a joint. 

“ Now don’t you care, Sandy. You’ll get it with 


AT CAMP 


87 


practice. Skin Lightwood is made of India rubber 
anyway,” comforted Jim Phillips, as they fell into 
line for the morning dip. 

This was simply in and out again. The brave 
spirits rushing headlong for the springboard at the 
end of the long dock for a dive, while the more timid 
ones slid off the sides, where they could touch bottom. 
In a moment it was over, and they were racing back 
to the tents to dress, their bodies tingling with new 
life and vigor. 

Fortunately their baggage had been sent in a car 
attached to another train, and had not been affected 
by the wreck. So camp uniforms were extricated 
from trunks and donned for the first time with ill 
concealed pride, especially by the new boys. 

There’s nothing wrong with me, you bet ; my 
clothes are the dead cut of Mr. Griswold’s,” exulted 
Barney to himself, as he gave his trousers a hitch 
and reached for his hair-brush. 

The man with the horn was untiring, and at his 
next signal Bibles were brought out, and seated on 
bunks or on the floor the boys gathered for the morn- 
ing watch. 

‘‘ I don’t know how you feel about it, fellows, but 
the hundredth psalm strikes me just right this morn- 
ing,” said Griswold as he opened his Bible. 

Together they read that most joyous of all psalms 
and then there was an interval of silent prayer. 

There was no comment, but somehow there came 
to each boy the feeling that God was wonderfully in- 
terested in them, and in their good times. 


88 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


The next call was to line up for breakfast, and was 
greeted with an acclaim, before which all other en- 
thusiasms of the morning faded. 

This line-up before each meal was a time-honored 
institution at camp. Visitors were always impressed 
with it. The boys were so prompt in getting there, 
and everybody looked so hopeful. 

At last they were streaming into the pavilion, their 
already vociferous appetites sharpened by the fra- 
grant aroma of breakfast, floating out from the 
kitchen. 

A stranger that morning would have been struck 
with the fact that everything went as smoothly as 
if camp had been under way for a week. There was 
not a hitch anywhere. Mr. Adams was the officer 
of the day. He it was whose horn had regulated 
every movement of the camp so far. 

The stranger would not know that the leaders had 
been in training for weeks, and that under the Chief’s 
direction every detail had been arranged for and 
understood. The leaders were working as one man, 
with possibly one exception, and the spirit of “ help 
the other fellow ” was everywhere apparent. 

Seated at table, Sandy and Barney looked about 
them with interested eyes. Each tent had its own 
table, presided over by the tent leader. There was an 
expectant hush. Then Jerry Walker stepped out 
and, standing in front of the great stone fireplace, 
told the story of Sir Galahad, the boy knight of the 
pure heart and the one great purpose, to whom, 
among all the knights of the round table, it was given 


AT CAMP 


89 


to follow the vision of the Holy Grail to a glorious 
end. 

Though Jerry told the story simply and. briefly 
one could almost imagine that he had seen it with his 
own eyes ; not only that, but he made the boys see it — 
and right there with the glorious sunshine all about, 
and the breeze stirring softly through the great open 
air dining hall, on that first morning of camp, many 
a boy caught a vision, and it was a vision of purity 
and strength. 

Then they stood and with one voice sang 
Be present at our table. Lord.” 

The genial face of Alexander, the cook, who had 
been with the camp from its humblest beginning, 
beamed upon them from the kitchen door. Alex- 
ander was a chum and a friend to every boy in camp. 

On one never to be forgotten occasion, a gilded 
youth with an eye to midnight suppers and other 
favors, offered him a tip. 

Now Alexander was slow of speech and of a stam- 
mering tongue. Anyway, he decided that words were 
not adequate to the occasion, and the next thing the 
gilded youth knew he was lying on his back at the 
foot of the steps outside the kitchen door, blinking 
up at the sky, and wondering what was the matter 
with him. 

This so accorded with the spirit of the place that 
ever after Alexander was taken into all the good 
times, quite as a matter of course. His rendering of 


90 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


‘‘ Mona ” on special celebrations and amateur nights 
was a star attraction and was sure to bring down 
the house. 

Even the two new waiters smiled happily as they 
hurried back and forth with steaming pots of coffee, 
and smoking dishes of cereal, and bacon and eggs. 
No one knew their names, and no one asked. It was 
not necessary. They were promptly given new ones. 
One slipshod individual, with a decided cast in his 
eye, but of undoubted good nature, was christened 
“ Goo-goo ” before he had made the rounds of the 
pavilion twice, and was so known to the end of camp. 

The other was a giant in stature, and had the pe- 
culiarity that when he bent over, one felt that he was 
about to close up like a jack-knife. He was known 
thereafter as “ Shorty.” 

A little silk flag floated gayly from a standard on 
Carewe’s table, showing that it was the neatest and 
the most tastefully set of all in the dining hall. 

This was to be awarded every mealtime, and was 
a much coveted distinction, as the duty of table set- 
ting was performed by the boys themselves. 

From his seat at Griswold’s right, Sandy was all 
eyes and ears for everything that was going on. Just 
behind him Dad Farrington’s boys were discussing 
canoe trips, while directly in front, at the next table, 
the two older boys who acted as tent leaders were 
planning for the first amateur night performance, 
and Skin Lightwood was telling a boy whom he hailed 
as “ Crullers,” what he would do if he only had been 
allowed to bring his gun. 


AT CAMP 


91 


The Chief sat just in front of the great fireplace 
and at his right was a fair-haired lady with laughing 
blue eyes, whom the boys knew as “ The Lady of the 
Bungalow.” She was deeply intent on the care of a 
baby girl, whose face was a round miniature of the 
Chief’s, and who was waving her hands, and throwing 
kisses right and left with charming impartiality. 
When breakfast was over the Chief stood up, and 
in an instant his ringing tones attracted the atten- 
tion of every boy there. 

I just want to give a brief outline of the work 
of the camp,” he said. ‘‘ One week we have instruc- 
tion, and the next canoe trips and hikes. This morn- 
ing we begin our first week of instruction. Eighteen 
different courses will be taken up, all tending to an 
all-round, well-developed manhood. The classes be- 
gin at nine with physical culture, fencing and wres- 
tling, and end at twelve with swimming, life-saving, 
and sailing. You will not be able to take them all at 
once, but I want every fellow to be busy all morning 
at something. There are a few things which you can- 
not afford not to know, swimming for instance. Any 
fellow who does not know how to swim, stand up.” 

Sandy’s cheeks grew scarlet as he slowly rose to 
his feet. This was the hour of his deep humiliation. 
His mother had an unreasoning dread of the water 
and had forbidden him learning to swim until she was 
satisfied that he was safely guarded. How he almost 
wished that he had disobeyed her. 

“ All right, Merrill. All right, yes, anybody 
else? ” called the Chief as a dozen or more responded. 


92 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


Now, Mr. Poole, you will get these names, and 
take charge of them at the swimming hours. And I 
want to tell you boys what a privilege you have, in 
being taught to swim by Mr. Poole. Did you ever 
hear of the human fish? Well, this is it. He has 
taught one hundred and fifty boys to swim, in the 
swimming tanks down at the club. He taught our 
leaders life saving before coming to camp, and has 
a class for men every morning at half past seven, and 
he does it all for nothing, just for the pure love of it. 

“ Now it’s up to you to do your best when you have 
a chance like that. There is no reason why you 
should not each have a certificate for swimming to 
send home by the end of the week.” 

After this the Chief went over a list of manly ac- 
complishments which fairly made the boys dizzy, and 
again and again Sandy had to acknowledge with 
shame that he knew nothing about them. 

Things looked pretty dark just then, until Hugh 
Griswold said so quietly that no one else heard: 

It is not what you know now that will count, but 
what you have learned by the time camp is over.” 

“ Oh, but I feel like a regular mut. I’m the biggest 
greenhorn in the whole bunch ! ” cried Sandy, as he 
sat down, covered with confusion. 

“ I don’t believe you’ll have that to say a week 
from to-day.” 

Sandy looked up into the wonderfully earnest face 
of the young man, with hope in his heart. He had 
not forgotten that yesterday, in the time of fierce 
and sudden need, the world of manhood had opened 


AT CAMP 


93 


up to him. He knew now that it could never quite 
close again. 

I’ll do my best,” he said simply, and squared his 
shoulders, as he went out to the class in physical 
culture. 


CHAPTER VIII 


ON THE TRAIL OF THE INDIAN 

S ANDY and Barney had as companions in their 
tent, the boys they knew best, Jim Phillips, Billy 
Browne and Fat Wolcott. There was space for two 
or three others, but they had not come yet. The 
tent itself was twelve feet square, with a good floor, 
and double tiered bunks on each side. Immediately 
back of it was the woods, with glimpses of the lake 
shining through it. 

On the afternoon of the second day In camp, Sandy 
sat at the back door of the tent deeply immersed In 
a brown paper-covered book, which seemed to re- 
quire much careful study and thought. It was thus 
that Barney found him, much to his disgust. 

“ What you got there ” he demanded impatiently. 
“ I didn’t come to camp to sit with my nose stuck 
in a book, you bet.” 

Sandy looked up abstractedly ^‘Do you know 
that there’s a right and a wrong way of flying the 
Union Jack.? ” he asked irrelevantly. 

“No, what’s that got to do with it? ” 

“ This is the scout book.” 

“Well?” 

“ I asked the Chief this afternoon if I might join 
the scouts.” 


94 


ON TRAIL OF THE INDIAN 


95 


« What did he say? ” 

Well — I guess he thinks I’m not fit — even to He a 
tenderfoot.” 

Huh ; I thought any fool could be that.” 

Not in the boy scouts he couldn’t.” 

« Why not? ” 

Because, before you can be sworn in as a tender- 
foot you’ve got to know the scout signs and salute; 
all about the Union Jack and the way to fly it, besides 
learning how to tie four different kinds of knots.” 

“ Then what do you do? ” asked Barney with more 
interest. 

You take the oath and serve a month as a 
tenderfoot, then if you learn a lot more things, you 
can be a second-class scout. The Chipf says if I 
swing in on things here at camp, I can get ’em all beat 
a mile.” 

You didn’t swallow all that, did you? ” 

Sandy turned to his book with an offended air, and 
Barney hastened to make amends. 

What is that scout law you were talking about? ” 
he asked. 

“ I was just trying to learn it, when you came but- 
ting in.” 

What does it say? ” 

^‘ Well, it tells you to be on your honor, to be 
courteous, and to help other people. A scout prom- 
ises to do a good turn every day. The Chief says 
that is the same as the Camp Couchiching spirit of 
‘ help the other fellow.’ We’re supposed to prac- 
tise that here anyway.” 


96 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


“ Gee, I wouldn’t care if they weren’t so blamed 
ready to help themselves. Could you beat it, the way 
that puddin’ got out of sight at noon? ” 

Oh well, you always were an awful pig, you know, 
I never saw you get enough yet.” 

“ I never do when you’re around. But say, you 
don’t mean to go in for all that, do you? ” 

“ You bet I am, I’m going in for everything I can, 
and if I don’t send a whole bunch of certificates home 
to my Dad, I’ll know the reason why.” 

‘‘ Hear ; hear ; that’s the talk ! ” cried a cheery 
voice, coming around the tent, and Jerry Walker and 
Hugh Griswold appeared. 

“ Somebody is getting down to business, evi- 
dently,” remarked Jerry with a broad grin. 

‘‘ Yes, and I see my finish,” sighed Barney discon- 
tentedly. 

Why, what’s the matter ? ” 

“ Nothing the matter with me. It’s that guy over 
there. He’s always getting a bug of some kind. 
He’s the craziest loon you ever saw. Now he wants 
to be a scout, and I suppose I’ll have to be one too.” 

The young men laughed. 

‘‘ Is that all? ” said Griswold. It’s a great thing 
to be a real scout. There are some make believes 
that don’t amount to anything, except to look pretty 
in a uniform, but a true scout is always a brave man 
and a gentleman.” 

“ I don’t see how a fellow can be a real scout now- 
adays, when there are no Indians to fight, and no 
woods big enough to get lost in,” said Sandy, 



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ON TRAIL OF THE INDIAN 


97 


“ Be prepared ; that is the scout’s motto you 
know,” returned Griswold. “ Live up to that. 
Then if something really big turns up, you’ll be ready 
for it.” 

‘‘ I suppose so, but it isn’t very exciting. Now if 
a fellow only had Daniel Boone’s chance,” cried 
Sandy, his eyes sparkling with the thought. 

‘‘ That’s what I say,” agreed Jerry Walker. 

The trouble is that we are here just about three 
hundred years too late. You didn’t know, I suppose, 
that we are on classic ground, so far as Indian his- 
tory is concerned.” 

“ No, tell us about it.” 

‘‘ Yes, this is the frontier of the old Hurons. 
Down at the Narrows about a mile from here, between 
Lake Simcoe and Lake Couchiching, was their famous 
fishing place ; some of the old stakes can be seen yet 
under the water. Orillia, which is a mile or so the 
other way, is built on the site of an ancient Indian 
town. The old trail is just on the othbr side of the 
camp, and there is one along the water’s edge, noc 
far from the tent here.” 

Several of the other boys had gathered around 
while Jerry was talking, and they were eager to hear 
more. They knew Jerry to be an enthusiast in 
Indian lore, for he had conducted several very suc- 
cessful Indian pageants at camp, wherein warriors 
and black-robed priests had figured picturesquely. 

“Were there any big fights here?” asked Sandy 
in awestruck tones, as he glanced around the peace- 
ful camp. 


98 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


“ Not that we know of,” replied Jerry, seating 
himself comfortably on the ground while the others 
followed his example. “ But I can tell you one 
thing that really happened here. Griswold and I 
looked it up in the old records the other day, so 
we know. If you had been here the first day of 
September nearly three hundred years ago, and had 
looked out across the athletic field there, you would 
have seen one of the greatest scouts who ever lived 
come swinging down the trail with a couple of other 
white men, and followed by a crowd of Hurons in 
full war-paint and feathers. They were going down 
to the Narrows, to lay in a supply of fish, before 
starting out on the war-path to exterminate their 
enemies, the Iroquois.” 

“ Who was the scout.? ” asked Fat Wolcott prac- 
tically. 

‘‘ The great Champlain. He had consented to be- 
come the ally of the Hurons in their struggle against 
the Iroquois, and had come up from Quebec for that 
purpose. The Hurons had an almost superstitious 
faith in him, and as they went through here that day, 
they were as hilarious as if they had been going on a 
picnic. They had seen Champlain do some deadly 
work with his arquebus, and they felt sure that their 
enemies would fall before it like trees in the path of a 
hurricane.” 

‘‘ What in the mischief is an arquebus ? ” demanded 
Barney. 

‘‘ An old fashioned hand-gun, which was about as 
deadly at one end as the other. They stayed around 


ON TRAIL OF THE INDIAN 


99 


the Narrows for ten days, waiting for a reinforcement 
of five hundred warriors that had been promised 
them.” 

How did they do their fishing? ” asked Jim 
Phillips. 

‘‘ In this way. The Narrows was fenced across 
with upright stakes driven in under water. Several 
small openings were left, where they placed their nets. 
They caught great quantities of herring that way. 
The wild rice grew there, too, and was gathered by 
men in canoes. Each man had two long sticks and as 
they pushed their canoes right through the rice, they 
bent the heads over with the sticks on each side, and 
shook the grain into the bottom of the canoe.” 

‘‘ But what about Champlain? ” interrupted Sandy 
eagerly. 

Oh, he waited for the other warriors, as long as 
he could, and then when they did not come, he sent 
one of his Frenchmen and some Hurons to bring them 
along; and started off with his war-party by canoe. 
They paddled through Lake Simcoe, and then by 
portage, lake and river, they made their way to Lake 
Ontario, and paddling straight across it, came right 
into the Iroquois country. 

Talk about your Indian scouts ! Well, say, 
those Hurons acted like a pack of fools. Danger 
and death lurked behind every bush, and every tree, 
but they shrieked and chattered through the woods 
like children let loose from school. Champlain was 
going to do it all, they thought. He could not do a 
thing with them. You can imagine how he felt in the 


100 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


very heart of the Iroquois country, at the head of a 
mad rabble like that. 

“ Of course they got licked, and blamed it all on to 
Champlain. He had a hard time of it getting 
back here, but he spent all that winter in this vicin- 
ity.” 

Jerry paused, but no one stirred. Then Gris- 
wold added : “ Champlain has written all about it in 
his ‘ Voyages.’ Jerry and I found one thing he wrote 
about his ten days’ stay at the Narrows which may 
interest you. It was about the Huron method of 
hunting, and was undoubtedly tried on this very 
point. 

“ He said that about five hundred Indians would 
form in line, from shore to shore across a point, with 
bows and arrows in hand, and with a great noise, and 
shouting, would advance to the very end of the point, 
and the wild animals would be killed by the bows and 
arrows, or forced into the water where other hunters 
in canoes were waiting to kill them.” 

Huh ! that was easy,” commented Barney, 
“ Dandy game laws they must have had in those 
days.” 

“ Where’s that Indian trail.? ” demanded Sandy. 

“ There’s one about six feet from the water’s 
edge,” answered Jerry Walker. 

“ Well, I am going to find it. This whole woods 
looks different to me now,” remarked Sandy, jumping 
to his feet. 

“ All right, come on. We have to cut flag-poles 
this afternoon, anyway,” agreed Hugh Griswold, 


ON TRAIL OF THE INDIAN 101 


leading the way. ‘‘ Who will be the first to find the 
trail? ” he challenged. 

The boys followed him eagerly. Skin Lightwood 
and an undersized boy of sixteen, named Baggs, from 
the next tent, joined them, and in a few moments 
everybody was looking for the trail. 

About fifty feet from the shore, a road had been 
cut through the woods to the Chief’s bungalow. 

It was a rough affair, with hollows and hillocks, 
where stumps had been pulled out, and between that 
and the water was a tangle of thick undergrowth. 
Dead leaves and pine needles made a thick carpet on 
the ground, and nowhere was there any indication of 
a trail. 

The boys pushed their way eagerly through the 
tangle, in search of some sign of where it had been. 

Fat Wolcott was the first to give up. ‘‘ Nobody 
need tell me there ever was a trail here,” he an- 
nounced positively. The only way to find a trail 
in the woods is to look for blazes in the trees. I don’t 
see any blazes, so I know there’s no trail.” 

“ Oh, go on. Fat. You’re looking for the blazes 
Champlain made with his arquebus,” jeered Billy 
Brown. 

‘‘ May be you think you’re funny, but if you can 
find a trail, I can’t,” retorted Fat. 

‘‘ Hello ; I’ve got it,” shouted Sandy, who had not 
joined in the talk, but had been pushing on over fallen 
trees and through underbrush, when suddenly, 
through his light running-shoes, he became conscious 
of slightly harder ground. He tested it thoroughly. 


102 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


and followed it for some distance before he shouted. 
Then it was easy to follow, and they knew it was thei 
hard beaten trail of many centuries which was under 
their feet. 

“ Whoop ! It’s me that’s got it,” called Skin 
Lightwood, emerging from a hollow just off the road, 
where he had been doing some exploring on his own 
account, and triumphantly waving a garter snake 
over his head, 

“I just knew there was one around here some- 
where, and say, isn’t he a beauty? ” he exulted. 

The boys stopped to admire the squirming reptile, 
and little Baggs’s eyes grew wide with mingled ad- 
miration and fear. 

“ That Skin ’e ain’t afraid o’ nothink, ’e ain’t,” he 
boasted tremblingly as he craned his neck to see it 
over Barney’s shoulder. 

Baggs was the product of long generations of old 
country slum dwellers, and had only been in Canada 
for a few months. 

For a part of that time, he had been chore-boy in 
the King Edward Hotel, and there had heard of Camp 
Couchiching, the place where sports were turned out 
to order. It was the one consuming ambition of 
Baggs’s life to be a great sport. He tried to appear 
as one by wearing his hat over one eye and looking 
tough; but there filtered through his brain the sus- 
picion that there was something more to it, and he 
was here peeling vegetables for three hours every day, 
and imbibing Canadian ideals with more or less diffi- 
culty. 


ON TRAIL OF THE INDIAN 103 


Skin Lightwood was his hero, and he shuddered 
with fearsome delight, as that worthy rolled the snake 
up into a ball and dropped it carelessly into his 
pocket. 

Down in the woods, they heard soft voices and 
little peals of laughter, and they came suddenly to 
a small clearing, in the midst of which was a rus- 
tic affair, half tent, half cedar logs and evergreen 
boughs. 

Seated on the floor of the veranda, where the after- 
noon sun, shining through the leaves, cast delicately 
traced shadows, was the Lady of the Bungalow, play- 
ing with little Couchie. They did not see the boys, 
and it was evident that a singing lesson was in prog- 
ress. 

I wonder who’s kissing her now,” sang the Lady 
of the Bungalow, and Couchie chortled an energetic 
baby imitation, and there was more laughter, and a 
great deal of talk in the language, to which only 
babies and mothers hold the key. 

Instinctively the boys stood still, as though it were 
sacred ground. Then Couchie saw them and waved a 
vociferous welcome, which was warmly seconded by 
her mother. It was a beautiful little spot, cut out of 
the forest, and might easily have been many miles 
from civilization. The boys were invited to inspect 
the interior of the roomy bungalow, with its folding 
camp-stove, and other conveniences, and grew en- 
thusiastic over this ideal home in the wildwood. 

While they were going through the tent, a sudden 
inspiration seized Skin Lightwood, and he drew the 


104 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


snake out of his pocket, and coolly handed it to the 
Lady of the Bungalow. 

She did not scream, or do any of the things he 
hoped for, but stepping back with her hands behind 
her, said with laughing severity : 

“ Skin Lightwood, go and let that poor creature 
loose at once. It is a harmless thing, and you ought 
not to torment it.” 

Skin was crestfallen. “ I thought you’d faint,” he 
commented disappointedly. 

Meanwhile Couchie, from her seat on the rug, was 
viewing the party pleasantly, but critically. She 
knew all about boys, having seen a good deal of them 
during her one year of life. She looked inquiringly 
from one to the other, and then with a little gurgling 
invitation, she held out her arms to Barney. 

The boys all laughed, and Barney blushed to the 
roots of his red hair, but he was used to babies, and 
stooping down, he gathered her into his arms quite as 
a matter of course. She had dark eyes like the 
Chief’s, and little curling rings of fair hair all over 
her head. 

She crowed contentedly in Barney’s arms, and dug 
her fat fists into his hair in a business-like manner. 

“ I wonder who’s kissing her now.? ” hummed Bill}^ 
Browne teasingly. 

“ Gee, she’s got an eye for color, anyway,” cried 
Jim Phillips. “ Come on, fellows, we’ve got no show 
here at all,” he continued, and they laughingly bade 
good-by to the Lady of the Bungalow, and went on 
their way. 


ON TRAIL OF THE INDIAN 105 


Farther down in the woods, the undergrowth be- 
came thicker and more tangled, and little paths were 
discovered and followed only to find that they led to 
nowhere, after the manner of forest paths. 

Here, under Griswold’s instruction, the boys took 
their first lesson in woodcraft, learning the names of 
many trees, and also the right way to fell a tree, 
though the saplings needed for flag-poles did not call 
for much skill in axmanship. 

When they were done, and Hugh Griswold and the 
other boys had gone back to camp, Sandy and Barney 
found themselves at the end of the point with Jerry 
Walker. There were signs of its being an old camp- 
ing spot, and the view up Lake Coucliiching was 
magnificent. It was not yet time for the afternoon 
swim, and they sat down by the water’s edge to watch 
the different camp craft, cruising and paddling about. 
The launch was coming in from Orillia with several 
visitors aboard, and the little dinghy skimmed over 
the water like a white butterfly on the wing. 

It’s the Admiral giving a sailing lesson. Just 
listen to him now,” remarked Jerry, as the little vessel 
drew nearer, and they made out the figures of the 
Admiral and three older boys. 

The stentorian tones of the former floated to them 
over the water, as he roared: Learn this, will you? ” 

“ When both side lights you see ahead. 

Port your helm and show your red ! 

Green to green or red to red 
Perfect safety — go ahead ! ” 


106 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


‘‘Look out there, Thompson, don’t let her jibe, 
you blockhead ! ” 

“ If he isn’t the limit,” commented Sandy, and 
Jerry laughed. 

“ Huh, he’s a dandy policeman, anyhow,” said 
Barney contemptuously, as he skimmed a pebble over 
the water. 

“ You’re going to have a chance to join the great 
baseball league to-night,” remarked Jerry by way of 
changing the subject. 

“ That’s great. Does everybody join? ” 

“ Yes, indeed. Nobody is left out. .We’ve got 
some great players this year, too.” 

“ Who ? ” asked Sandy, alive with interest. 

“ Lots of them among the leaders, but I guess Gris- 
wold is the best all around.” 

“ He is?” 

“Yes, didn’t you hear about the time a month or 
so ago, when we were playing against West End, and 
Griswold was our pitcher? ” 

“No, I didn’t. What was it? ” 

“ Well say, where were you that you didn’t hear 
that? Why, he just let those fellows down without 
a single player getting to first base, that was all.” 

“ Gee!” 

“ Phew!” 

“ That’s a fact. All the newspapers went wild 
over him. There never was such a feat accomplished 
in amateur baseball in Toronto.” 

“ How did he do it? ” asked Sandy breathlessly. 

“ Search me,” grinned Jerry. “ He’s got magic 


ON TRAIL OF THE INDIAN 107 


up his sleeve somewhere. You’d never guess it to 
look at him though.” 

‘^He’s just fine!” asserted Sandy warmly. 

Jerry’s eyes swept the expanse of Lake Couchi- 
ching with a far-away expression, before he answered. 
There was a new light in their depths when he turned 
to the boys and said with almost a tender emphasis : 

Yes, finer than you know. He’s white through 
and through.” 

‘^You bet!” agreed Barney forcibly, but Sandy 
said nothing. 

A week or two ago I met a man from the 
West, who knew Griswold, and he told me 
about his work out there,” said Jerry, clasping his 
hands around one knee, and leaning back against a 
prostrate log. ‘‘ You see, Hugh never talks about 
himself, so I didn’t know.” 

“ Tell us about him,” urged Sandy impatiently, as 
Jerry paused to watch the progress of a couple of 
war-canoes, with their crews of hardy braves, enter- 
ing the bay. 

‘‘ I don’t know that I can tell you very much. He 
was just everything to those rough men in the lumber 
and railway construction camps. They called him 
*the Kid,’ because he looked so young. It wasn’t 
what he said so much as what he was, that gave him 
the grip on them, and lots of them would have given 
their lives for him, just for what he had been to them. 

‘‘ One little thing the man told me will show you the 
sort of thing he was always doing; At a lumber 
camp he was visiting, a man took very sick with a 


108 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


contagious disease. They were three days’ ride from 
the nearest settlement, and the men all got so fright- 
ened that they were going to leave. Then Hugh 
Griswold got a horse and wagon, and put a bed in it, 
besides everything that would be of help in taking 
care of the sick man on the way, and started off with 
him to his wife and the doctor. It was a desperately 
lonely way, most of it through the woods. In the 
middle of the first night the man died. There was no 
use going back, so at daylight he went on, and it was 
near night again before he found a settler’s cabin. 
He and the settlers knocked together some rough 
boards into a box, and put the body into it. For 
two nights while on the way, he slept in the woods 
with no company but the dead body of that stranger. 

“ It doesn’t sound very much, does it ? Hugh 
would laugh at you for thinking it worth mention- 
ing. But, hello, — there’s the horn for the swim. 
We’ll have to run.” 

That evening just after supper, everybody was 
eager for the organizing of the baseball leagues. 
There were to be two, a senior and a junior, and the 
games were to be played every evening, between sup- 
per-time and dark. It took the Chief but a few min- 
utes to have the men for the two leagues lined up on 
opposite sides of the pavilion, and it was found that 
there were just enough for six senior, and four junior 
teams. From his place among the juniors, Sandy 
looked with admiration and envy on the array of 
stars and champions on the other side. It was going 
to be awfully tame amohg these kids, he thought. 


ON TRAIL OF THE INDIAN 109 


‘‘ Now, then,” said the Chief briskly, “ we will 
select the captains, and they in turn will choose their 
men. We will take the junior league first. I am 
going to call for volunteers, for captains for the 
junior teams. Who will be the first volunteer.'* ” 

For an instant there was dead silence, then Hugh 
Griswold said quietly, “ I will be one,” and was im- 
mediately followed by Jerry Walker, and two older 
boys. 

Dismay hung its banners over the ranks of the 
seniors. Half the fun of baseball would be gone 
without Griswold and Walker. They looked 
anxiously at the Chief, half hoping that he might 
refuse the sacrifice, and someone even suggested it. 
But the Chief’s face glowed with satisfaction, and 
then someone called for three cheers. Thus the 
baseball season was launched. 


CHAPTER IX 


CAMP POLITICS 

T he next morning the camp was suddenly thrown 
into the throes of a political campaign, by Jerry 
Walker announcing that the nomination for the 
board of control would take place that evening, and 
the elections the next. 

The outburst of applause which followed was 
partly caused by the prospective joy of battle, and 
partly a tribute to Jerry, whose genial smile (the ir- 
reverent called it a grin) was an institution at camp. 
Like the Cheshire cat in the famous tale, one might 
sometimes see the smile without Jerry, but never 
Jerry without the smile. The youngest boy called 
him Jerry, without fear of rebuke, and the oldest 
found in him 'a good comrade, who could be counted 
on, where a man’s help meant much. 

He had charge of the department of entertainment 
and lent to each day’s programme a joyous enthu- 
siasm, which permeated the whole camp. 

Party feeling ran high, but Sandy and Barney were 
at sea as to the meaning of it all. 

“ You see it’s this way,” explained Jim Phillips, in 
reply to a question. “ The board of control takes 
charge of all complaints and matters of discipline. 
The President is a leader, and the four members are 


110 


CAMP POLITICS 


111 


boys. There are two parties, the Kinkers and the 
Nationalists.” 

Who’s running this time? ” asked Sandy. 

Bob Sparling and Adams for President. There’s 
going to be no end of fun, for the fellows all like 
Adams, and he has the Nationalists and the boy 
scouts with him, while Bob Sparling is the hero of 
more than half the kids in camp. Ever notice the 
string he has after him wherever he goes? It’s 
touching.” 

As the day wore on, it was evident that an interest- 
ing struggle was at hand. 

The Admiral with all the ardor and imperiousness 
of his nature had espoused the cause of the National- 
ists. He was not very fond of Adams, but to him it 
was the boy scouts against the world of sport, and he 
was bound that the scouts should win. 

On the opposite side. Jack Whitby, and Ben Myer, 
the leaders in Skin Lightwood’s tent, were the moving 
spirits. They were the journalists and the humor- 
ists of camp. Incidentally, they were the joint editors 
of the Kinker organ. The Startler, and had already 
stirred the Admiral to wrath by a few pointed re- 
marks in that great journal, on the amateur detec- 
tive. 

The boys who were running for the board were un- 
usually active, and Sandy was buttonholed right and 
left, as his politics were still in doubt. 

Say, Merrill, of course we can count on you for 
the Kinkers, can’t we? ” urged a compelling voice at 
his elbow as he left the dinner table. 


112 EROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


“ Don’t know,” replied Sandy with a shrug. He 
knew the boy only by sight, and was not going to 
commit himself. 

“ Oh, now, look here. You’re a new boy and can’t 
be expected to know things just as they are, but let 
me give you a straight tip. The Kinkers are the 
goods. Why, you wouldn’t be counted anybody if 
you got hooked up with that old bunch of guff-shoot- 
ers they call the Nationalists.” 

“ Huh ! that’s what you say.” 

“ That’s what everybody says who is anybody.” 

“ My, but you think a lot of yourselves.” 

“ Well, you’ll see. Now there’s Windy de Forest 
over there. Thinks he’s the whole cheese in the guff- 
shooters. He’ll be begging and praying you to vote 
for him. Goes to everybody that way. Then on 
election he gets up looking so pious and says ‘ I don’t 
ask anybody to vote for me. I want what is best for 
Camp Couchlching.’ That’s all in your eye, Peggy 
Martin. He wants nothing of the kind.” 

“ Are you running for anything.^ ” 

“ Sure, I’m running for the board of control, too.” 

“ Do you think you’ll get in ? ” 

“ Oh, sure I will. Say, Merrill, you’ll vote for me, 
won’t you.P ” 

“ Maybe, I’ll see,” temporized Sandy, as he tore 
himself away, only to be cornered by “ Windy.” 

“ Windy ” was one of the leading sports and 
athletes in camp. His native kindness of heart and 
his readiness to do a good turn to anybody, made him 
a general favorite, but his loquacious and somewhat 




I 



A PILLOW FIGHT 







CAMP POLITICS 


113 


sharp tongue, which wagged on all occasions, won 
for him the sobriquet of “ Windy.” 

“ Say, kid,” he began with delightful familiarity, 
“ I saw you chinning with that bum over there. 
Weren’t you afraid hfe’d make you sick? ” 

Sandy’s eyes flashed. ‘‘ No, but I’m afraid you 
will,” he retorted quickly. “I’m no kid. I’ll bet 
I’m as old as you are.” 

“ No, you’re not. I’m fifteen.” 

“ Well, I’ll be fifteen my next birthday.” 

“ Oh, well, that’s all right. Don’t get on your 
ear so quick. That fellow over there thinks he’s it, 
and I just don’t want you to believe him, that’s all.” 

“ Well, maybe he is.” 

“ No, he’s not, I am.” 

The easy boldness of this assertion staggered 
Sandy, and almost won his admiration. 

“ You see it’s this way,” continued Windy oracu- 
larly. “ I know more about camp than any of these 
fellows, and I believe in a square deal for everybody. 
There’s no end to the things I’ll put through for 
the good of camp if I get in. You’ll be a Nationalist ; 
sure you will.” 

Sandy shook himself free. “ I haven’t a ghost of 
an idea yet. If you know, you’re wiser than I am,” 
he said shortly. 

It was Harvey Jameison who finally decided his 
political principles. 

“ Of course, you’re going to root for the National- 
ists to-night,” he remarked, when they met on their 
way to the line-up for supper. 


lU FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


don’t know yet, but I was thinking of going 
in with the Kinkers,” replied Sandy slowly. 

Oh, no ; that would never do. Not if you have 
any idea of being a boy scout. You see, you are in 
duty bound to help every other scout. You wouldn’t 
be worthy of the name if you didn’t.” 

That settled the matter. He would not be dis- 
loyal. Therefore, he would be a Nationalist. Bar- 
ney had no such scruples, and had already thrown in 
his fortunes with the Kinkers. 

That evening when dusk was settling into night, 
and the red flames were curling around the great logs 
in the big stone fireplace, the boys gathered in from 
the baseball field, ready for the fray. Sharply 
divided as to party, they mounted chairs and tables 
with a goodly supply of tin pans and spoons with 
which to emphasize their approval or disapproval of 
the sentiments expressed by the speakers. 

A strong breeze blew in from the lake, and the 
heavy canvas curtains were fastened down on that 
side of the pavilion. They strained at their cords, 
and the leaping flames cast fantastic, dancing 
shadows high among the rafters, and lit up 
the eager faces of the embryo politicians on either 
side. 

Then Jerry Walker stepped out to declare the 
nominations opened. 

Fellow citizens,” he said impressively. We 
are here to-night on the important business of nomi- 
nating candidates for President and members of the 
board of control, for the ensuing two weeks. I need 


CAMP POLITICS 


115 


not remind you, that Camp Couchiching stands for 
clean politics and high principles. If a man has won 
our confidence by being clean, and decent, and true ; 
if he has shown the Camp Couchiching spirit of ‘ help 
the other fellow,’ and if he has self-control enough to 
control others, then he is acceptable as a candidate. 
We leave you to judge. The nominations are now 
open. I will call upon the Kinkers to nominate their 
first man.” 

There were three cheers and a tiger for Jerry, just 
to start things off in approved style, and then a boy 
by the name of Larry sprang on to the table, which 
served as a rostrum, and with his most engaging smile, 
amid cheers of encouragement from the Kinkers, and 
howls of derision from the Nationalists, begged leave 
to nominate Bob Ross, otherwise known as “ Crul- 
lers,” for the board of control. 

I’ll tell you, fellows ” he said, with an at- 

tempt at taking the audience into his confidence, but 
in the uproar that followed from the Nationalist side, 
he got no further. 

I’ll tell you what ” he began again, but the 

din increased. 

Then the Kinkers took a hand, and sang until the 
rafters rang: 

I’m a Kinker, I’m a Kinker 
I’m a Kinker till I die,” 

and by sheer force of numbers, and strength of lung, 
drowned out their opponents. Then they stopped 


116 EROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


suddenly, and Larry took up the thread of his re- 
marks. 

“ Now I want to tell you, just what sort of a fellow 
Crullers is. I’ve lived in the tent with him, and I 
know him ” 

(A voice, “ Oh, we’re well acquainted with him.”) 

“ He’s the most generous fellow in this camp. 
(Windy, “ say. Crullers, lend us a nickel.”) He’s the 
champion boy swimmer of Canada. Whenever he at- 
tends a meet, he cleans up every event he enters. He 
has so many medals strung around his belt that you 
can’t count them. What more can you say for a fel- 
low than that.^ Vote for Crullers, fellows, and you’ll 
make no mistake.” 

Larry jumped down amid cheers, groans and the 
beating of tin pans. Then a Kinker hopped on a 
chair and demanded: 

“ What’s the matter with Crullers ” and the an- 
swer was heard in Orillia. 

« He’s all right. 

He’s a lulu. He’s a Cuckoo, 

And he gets there every time. 

We all rejoice, with heart and voice 
To see him get there. 

Who? 

Crullers. 

Who says so? 

Everybody. 

Who’s everybody? 

The Kinkers,” 

ending up with three cheers for Crullers. 


CAMP POLITICS 


117 


The tall boy, who rose to second the nomination, 
was the one who in the train on the way up to camp 
had been threatened with a ducking for his one and 
only j oke. He stood undisturbed through all the din 
of the Nationalists. 

“ Phew ! ” he exclaimed, holding his hand in front 
of his face. “ I thought I felt a draught. It’s 
Windy’s breath. I take much pleasure in seconding 
this nomination. He’s a Kinker. (A voice, “ Poor 
fellow”), and as such ought to have our support. 
There he is. Look the animal over for yourselves. 
There’s nothing like him anywhere.” 

At this juncture Windy de Forrest sprang to his 
feet and improvised as he sang : 

Under the spreading maple tree 
The knock-kneed Kinker stands; 

A weak and puny child is he, 

With small and dirty hands. 

And the muscles on his skinny arms 
Are strong as rubber bands.” 

This brought down the house, even the Kinkers be- 
ing unable to withhold applause altogether. 

Then the chairman announced that the National- 
ists now had the opportunity of nominating a 
man. 

This was a signal for the applause and vitupera- 
tion to swing around to different sides. It was evi- 
dent that the Kinkers were the stronger, both in num- 
bers and in enthusiasm. For fully five minutes they 
made it impossible for a Nationalist to utter a word. 


118 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


Then the Admiral grew angry, and shouting, ‘‘ This 
is all dashed nonsense ! ” clambered up to a chair on 
a table that he might the better direct the National- 
ist side of the campaign. To him this was no joke 
and he glowered blackly at Whitby and Myer who 
were high on the wave of fun and frolic, and lost to 
everything but the fervor of the occasion. The 
echoes awoke as they led their faction in party 
slogans, and uncomplimentary descriptions of their 
enemies. Whitby being a poet, wore his hair long to 
distinguish him from ordinary mortals, and now in 
his excitement it was standing out at all angles, and 
his face fairly glowed and sparkled with good-natured 
fun. 

Harvey Jameison had mounted the rostrum, and he 
made several vain attempts to be heard. 

“ Aw, give Tim a chance, can’t you? ” cried a lover 
of fair play at last. 

‘‘Now, gentlemen, this is no joke,” protested 
Harvey, when he could be heard. 

“No, but you are,” interjected Whitby, and the 
din started again. 

“ Tim ” was too seasoned a campaigner ?o be 
disturbed by interruptions and he went coolly 
on: 

“ I take great pleasure in nominating Allen de 
Forrest for the board of control. There is no doubt 
he is the best man in camp.” (A voice, “ Ugh ! We 
know Windy, he’s near bughouse.”) “ He’s the best 
all-round athlete, and the best for the Camp Couchl- 
ching spirit. I never saw him sore- ” 


CAMP POLITICS 


119 


Time’s up,” called someone. 

You shut up,” yelled the Admiral, jumping £o 
his feet. He had been perched on a chair on top of a 
table, and now shook his fist at the Kinker ranks. 
Someone started: 

There’ll be a hot time in the old town to-night,” 

and the Kinkers sang till they were hoarse. The 
Admiral trying vainly to be heard grew disgusted, 
and threw himself back on his chair exclaiming : 

By Jove, this is dashed ” when the chair 

toppled, and turning a complete somersault, he 
landed sputtering and choking among the boys on the 
floor. This contribution to the gayety of nations, de- 
moralized proceedings for the next fifteen minutes, 
both friends and opponents joining in the general 
hilarity. Then the program was resumed with 
fewer interruptions, and ended up with the nomina- 
tion of Adams and Sparling as Presidential candi- 
dates. 

The next day, there was an undercurrent of ex- 
pectancy through all the day’s proceedings. Elec- 
tioneering was carried on around the tents, and 
wherever the boys met. The Admiral worked with 
frantic zeal, assisted by a large youth named Thomp- 
son, who was his faithful henchman. 

At noon, the camp papers were read when dinner 
was over, and Myer presented an article in the 
Startler entitled, “ When the elephant gets 
frisky,” being a humorous description of the accident: 


120 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


of the night before, which was highly appreciated 
by all but the hero of the tale. 

In the Nationalist organ, Windy de Forrest got 
back at the Kinkers with a few conundrums. One 
which called forth applause from the ranks of the 
Nationalists was : 

“ Why is Camp Couchiching like a new lasso ? ” 

‘‘ Because the fewer kinks there are in it, the better 
it is.” 

At night they gathered once more around the blaz- 
ing campfire, this time to listen to speeches from the 
candidates themselves. These were the last shots 
fired in the campaign, and it was touching to learn 
how truly unselfish and public-spirited the candidates 
all were. 

“ If I get in. I’ll give every fellow a fair show.” 

“ My platform is small, ‘ Best for Camp Couchi- 
ching and its members.’ ” 

“ Our National policy, ‘ Best for the other fel- 
low.’ ” 

With these lofty sentiments, expressed by each can- 
didate, it was good to know that the welfare of Camp 
Couchiching was safe for the next two weeks at least, 
no matter which side was victorious. 

The polling booth was in the office, and the casting 
of ballots by the long line of voters began. 


CHAPTER X 


THE ADMIRAL’S REVENGE 

T T was the Camp Couchiching way to cheer the win- 
ner whether he was friend or foe, and then to for- 
get past rivalries in working for the common good. 

Thus when the whole Kinker ticket was elected, 
congratulations poured in upon Bob Sparling and his 
associates without regard to party politics, and a lot 
of tired and happy youngsters trooped off to bed, 
vowing that they had had enough fun to make it 
worth while. 

Only one did not offer congratulations. The Ad- 
miral deeply resented the defeat, and in the midst of 
the cheering and confusion he walked moodily away 
down to the darkness of his tent. He had taken it 
all as he did himself, very seriously, and he had 
been so sure of victory. His side would have won he 
was sure, had it not been for those two young scamps, 
Whitby and Myer. How he smarted when he 
thought of their witty sarcasms in the camp paper, 
and of the laugh they had created at his expense. 
If he could only do something to pay them up for it 
all! 

These were the thoughts which took possession of 
his brain as he threw himself on his bed, and turned 
his face away from the chattering of his companions. 

121 


122 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


Far into the night, even through his dreams, there 
floated visions of sweet revenge, and in the morning 
his ruby countenance placid once more, he called his 
chosen follower Thompson to a council of war. 

Just at that time Sandy and Barney, whose morn- 
ing it was to prepare for tent inspection, were edified 
by the sound of voices from the tent next door. 

“ Baggs, make my bed ! ” 

‘‘ Here, you Baggs, clean my boots, I’m going to 
Orillia to-day.” 

“ Come on, you flunky of the King Edward Hotel, 
don’t be all day at that j ob.” 

“ Baggs, get a move on.” 

Oh you, Baggs ! ” 

Sandy paused in his work of stuffing boots, boxing 
gloves, books, etc., where they would be least visible. 

“Well I’ll be jiggered!” he exclaimed slowly. 
“ What have they got in there, a valet.? ” 

“ Sounds like it,” said Barney enviously. “ Say, 
I can’t get these beds to look straight. I wish there 
was no such thing as tent inspection.” 

Before they had finished, they saw Jack Whitby 
and Ben Myer starting off on a run for the pavilion 
and shouting a dozen directions back to Baggs. 

When they were fairly out of sight, the latter came 
and threw himself down with a sigh, at the door of 
Griswold’s tent, his watery blue eyes looking hungrily 
about. Somehow, Baggs always looked pinched and 
ill-fed. 

“ Say, Baggs, are you the hired man in there.? 
asked Sandy curiously. 


THE ADMIRAL’S REVENGE 


123 


No,” Baggs shook his head. 

“ Sounds mighty like it. Why don’t you make 
them wait on themselves ? ” 

“ Well it’s this w’y. Them there two young gents 
is teachin’ me a few things as I ought to know, seein’ 
as ’ow I’m goin’ to be a sport, don’t you know.” 

“ They are, eh? ” 

Yes, they says as ’ow they’ll learn me table man- 
ners. That’s wot they calls it. I never knew 
nothink about it. When I sits down to the table and 
I has a harm and a fork to reach with, and some 
grub, then I don’t ask for nothink more, but they 
says to me, ‘ Baggs, you got to ’ave it or you can’t 
be no sport,’ and I says to them ‘ You learn me all 
you can, and I’ll do work for you to pay for it,’ I 
says.” 

“ Do you really think you’re going to be a sport? ” 

Baggs’s stunted form straightened suddenly, and 
his white face grew light with the passion of a 
great desire. Jumping to his feet, he threw back 
his shoulders and thrusting his hands into his 
pockets, strutted back and forth in front of the 
tent. 

“ Yes, sir ! A rare sport, that’s wot I’ll be. The 
Chief ’e says, ^ ’elp the other fellow,’ but I’ll be blowed 
if I’m goin’ to ’elp any bloke as I don’t ’ave to. Wot 
I wants is to lich the other fellow. Say, did you ever 
dream that there wasn’t anybody in the whole world 
as dared pass the time o’ day with you? I ’ave, and 
if they does I just shakes my fist under their noses 
and makes them eat their words.” 


124 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


Great Scott, Baggs, don’t scare a fellow that 
way,” cried Barney in mock terror. 

What I can’t make out is why you let those fel- 
lows put it over you the way they do,” remarked 
Sandy, trying to reconcile the dream with the real- 
ity. 

Baggs sat down with a hopeless gesture. 

‘‘ Young gents must ’ave their bit o’ fun,” he said 
weakly. 

“ Oh, piffle ! Don’t you let them have it on you, 
that’s all. But, hello! there’s the call to physical 
culture,” cried Sandy, setting olf on a run for the 
athletic field. 

After dinner, he sat in his tent committing to mem- 
ory some lines for a part he had in a play that 
night. 

It was the first amateur performance of the season, 
and the first time Sandy had ever taken part in any- 
thing of the kind, so it was a highly important 
occasion. The other boys were gathered under 
the shade of the great maple near the pavilion, lis- 
tening to a visitor tell a story. This was what the 
Chief called the after dinner rest-cure. 

Everything around the tents was still, and Sandy, 
was making the best use of his opportunity, when an 
angry exclamation, a scuffle, and the sound of men’s 
voices in the next tent attracted his attention. For 
a few moments he stuck to his work, then he heard 
Jack Whitby’s voice shrill and choking with anger, 
and he rushed out in time to see the Admiral and 
Thompson running away. In the tent he found 


THE ADMIRAL’S REVENGE 


125 


Whitby a sight to make his friends weep. His long 
hair had been cut out in streaks and gouges, and his 
face was white with anger. 

He, too, had been preparing for amateur night, 
much of the success of which depended upon him. In 
his capacity of playwright, actor, grand opera star 
and stage hand combined, he had taught them to ex- 
pect much, and this new play was to surpass anything 
that had yet appeared at camp. 

He had smiled softly to himself as he contemplated 
the part of the heavy villain in the melodrama, 
“ Lizzie, the Beautiful Fishmonger,” and realized that 
nothing quite so dramatic had ever before flowed 
from his pen. Out of doors everything was still, and 
there was no sound save the whispering of the breeze 
in the tree-tops and the lapping of the water on the 
stones. He did not notice the sharp breaking of a 
twig close to the tent, and he was totally unprepared 
when a rough hand was thrust down the neck of his 
flannel shirt, and he was jerked violently to the 
ground. He gave one angry exclamation and 
struggled with his assailants, but in vain, and as he 
lay back panting and helpless, he looked up into the 
triumphant face of the Admiral. 

“ Sit on him, Thompson,” cried that worthy ex- 
citedly and Thompson obeyed. As he was a much 
heavier man than Whitby, the result bade fair to be 
utter extinction. It was the undisguised malice in 
the Admiral’s face, as well as Thompson’s crushing 
weight, which made Whitby long for his friends at 
that moment. There was something different here 


126 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


from the ordinary pranks played by the campers on 
one another. 

“Now, then, my dear journalist,” said the Ad- 
miral with an exaggerated bow, “ you of the fluent 
pen and the ready wit, I’m going to do the Delilah 
act, don’t you know, you won’t be so wise to-mor- 
row, by J ove ! ” 

Stooping over the half-smothered victim, and tak- 
ing a pair of shears from his pocket, he proceeded to 
cut irregular swaths from his long hair. It was an 
awful moment for Whitby, as he felt his treasured 
locks coming off in square blocks and in bunches 
here and there, wherever the reckless shears 
turned. 

“ There ! ” cried his tormentor in highly satisfied 
tones, as he stood erect and viewed his handiwork. 

“ My word ! but I’ve improved your looks I do de- 
clare. your own mother wouldn’t know her darling 
boy now. Well, ta, ta ! ” 

They hurried off and Whitby sprang to his feet, 
hurling angry epithets after them. When Sandy en- 
tered, he poured out an incoherent story of the at- 
tack, his face white and his eyes blazing. One glance 
in the mirror almost made him faint, and he hastily 
donned a broad-rimmed felt outing hat, while Sandy 
removed all traces of the shearing from the floor. 
He was full of honest indignation at the outrage, and 
was glad when Ben Myer came strolling in alone. 

A word and a look explained the situation to him 
and he was as overcome with rage as his chum. 

“ Let’s get out of here ! ” cried Whitby. “ I’m not 


THE ADMIRAL’S REVENGE 


1^7 


accountable for what I do, and I simply can’t face 
the fellows now.” 

“ But what about the play? ” objected Myer. 

I don’t care anything about it. I shall have 
nothing to do with it. Only let us get away.” 

‘‘ Won’t you come to-night? ” 

‘‘No, I tell you. Hurry out of here. I can’t 
stand it another minute.” 

“ All right,” agreed Myer, as he gathered up the 
manuscript of “ Lizzie, the Beautiful Fishmonger,” 
with a sigh. “ Here, Merrill, take this to Jerry 
Walker and tell him to work it up himself. Maybe 
I’ll telephone to him, but don’t you tell a soul of what 
has happened here. We’ll tell them ourselves — and, 
oh, yes, you may tell Bob Sparling that we took his 
canoe. It’s right out here. Come on, Jack.” 

Sandy watched them as they paddled out of sight 
around the point between the camp and Orillia, and 
then turned to give his message to Jerry Walker and 
Sparling. 

Whitby and Myer did not return, and their absence 
was the cause of much complaint during the amateur 
performance. Notwithstanding the fact that Jerry 
put all the ingenuity of which he was capable into it, 
the play was a distinct disappointment. Without 
the moving spirits it fell flat. 

The tall and willowy heroine (Skin Lightwood) 
was far from being irresistible, and the hero’s devo- 
tion was lukewarm. The villain was not convincing, 
and more than once the “ hook ” was called for. 

“ It’s rotten? ” 


128 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


Where’s Jack Whitby? ” 

« Where’s Myer? ” 

Say, they’re a pair of quitters to go o£P this way. 
What do they think we are ? ” 

These and similar remarks, Sandy heard all around 
him as he came out after his light part in the per- 
formance. The Admiral sat with a little smile play- 
ing over his face, and Sandy wished that he was big 
enough to choke him. Hugh Griswold was perched 
on the railing which ran waist high all around the 
pavilion, and Sandy joined him there. It was good 
to creep as close to him as possible in the semi-dark- 
ness, and when Griswold threw a friendly arm around 
his shoulder and drew him closer, there was not much 
left to wish for. The friendship between the two 
was growing with the days, and it was good for the 
boy. 

Together they watched the different stunts of the 
performers, and joined in the applause, or in the calls 
for the ‘‘ hook,” according to the merits of the play- 
ers. 

“ I guess this is the last — good thing, too, for it 
sure was a bum show,” commented a boy, as two 
acrobats displayed their qualities in tumbling. 

When they had retired with half-hearted approba- 
tion from the audience, many of the boys prepared to 
leave, when Jerry Walker stepped forward to make 
another announcement. 

Some of the boys sighed. “ Is there more of it? ” 
they asked wearily, and settled back in their seats 
again. 



THE MID-DAY HALT 







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THE ADMIRAL’S REVENGE 


129 


“ As a closing number,” announced Jerry, we 
will have an original song from Mr. Jack Whitby.” 

The ripple of applause arose to a roar, and then 
to shouts of laughter as that young man stepped in 
front of the curtain. It was not the Jack Whitby 
they knew, but a close-cropped individual, with 
streaks of bare scalp showing at irregular intervals 
over his head. Sandy stared at him, fascinated. 
There was not a trace of the anger and perturbation 
of the afternoon, but his face was serious and dreamy, 
and the shouts and applause of the audience did not 
call forth even an answering smile. 

From the piano back of the curtain there came 
forth the prelude to one of the most touching and 
inspiring songs of the time, and then Whitby threw 
back his head and sang with all the pathos and 
earnestness of which his really beautiful voice was 
capable : 

“ Last night as I lay dreaming 
I dreamed a dream so fair, 

I dreamed they pulled poor Whitby out 
And cut off all his hair. 

And Whitby lay upon the ground. 

And not a friend was there. 

Oh, Admiral ! Oh, Thompson ! 

Bump, teedlyump, tump, tump. 

Oh, Admiral! Oh, Thompson! 

Bump, teedlyump, tump, tump.” 

The effect was electrical, and as he sang on through 


130 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


five verses descriptive of the crime and the criminals, 
the audience was wrought up to a high pitch of sym- 
pathy and righteous indignation. He so carried 
them with him, that they saw vividly the meanness of 
the perpetrators and the agony of the victim, and 
decided that something must be done. They joined 
in the chorus until the rafters fairly rang with: 

“ Oh, Admiral ! Oh, Thompson ! 

Bump, teedlyump, tump, tump,” 

and when it was over, there were cries from all sides, 
‘‘ Paint them,” “ Throw them into the drink.” 

The camp was as one man in deciding that the 
guilty must be punished. It had its own standard 
as to conduct, and the universal verdict regarding 
this was that it was “ dirty.” 

The pavilion was lighted by two or three hanging 
lamps, which were quite sufficient on nights when the 
campfire was burning, but to-night there was no fire, 
and the light from the lamps was fitful, leaving much 
of the pavilion in gloom. 

It was this circumstance which enabled the Ad- 
miral and Thompson to get away in the general con- 
fusion, leaving a baffled and disgusted lot of boys to 
mourn their loss. The younger ones would have 
started out in full cry after them in the darkness, 
but were restrained by wiser heads. 

Dad Farrington was put in charge of proceedings, 
and contributions towards a general paint-pot were 
called for. 


THE ADMIRAL’S REVENGE 


131 


Alexander, the cook, gave the dregs of the choco- 
late pot and the camp clerk a bottle of purple ink, 
while Skin Lightwood gladly turned in his whole 
store of shoe polish. Sand, tooth paste, red ink, tan 
polish, and several other offerings made up a mixture 
which gladdened Dad’s heart. 

Alas ! When it was all ready for action, the in- 
exorable horn sounded and everybody groaned. 
There was no ignoring the summons, however, and 
there was a general scampering towards the tents. 
In a few minutes “ quiet hour ” was sounded and 
everything was still. Then “ lights out,” and the 
boys went grumbling to bed. Even while they 
thought about it they were asleep and did not open 
their eyes until the first horn sounded in the moan- 
ing. 

Meanwhile stealthy forms, under Dad’s able gen- 
eralship, were making preparations for an onslaught 
on the Admiral’s tent. “ Painting ” was not alto- 
gether a lost art at camp, but there were stories 
handed down from the heroic age which made all re- 
cent achievements in that line seem tame and color- 
less. Those were the golden days, full of the joy and 
the lust of battle, when camp meant but a few tents 
pitched among the pine stumps in the midst of a 
hastily cleared wilderness, before the enervating 
luxuries of pavilions, brass horns, and gasoline 
launches had taken away much of the old time free- 
dom and romance. 

There were not a few of the sturdy pioneers left, 
however, and they were among the ringleaders in to- 


132 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


night’s raid. They meant to do their work thor- 
oughly, for the honor of Camp Couchiching was at 
stake. 

The tent was in darkness, and as the attacking 
party drew a cordon around it, and Dad and the 
dauntless “ Crullers ” entered like panthers ready to 
spring on their prey, there was no sound but the 
quiet breathing of the sleeping occupants of the 
bunks. As tent leader, the Admiral slept in a cot 
placed between the two rows of bunks; and it was 
upon this that the invaders concentrated their atten- 
tion. 

Dad reached out a determined hand to grab the 
sleeper. It closed on empty air. The cot was 
empty. At the same time Crullers had discovered a 
vacant bunk where Thompson should have been. 
They struck matches to thoroughly examine the tent 
and identify the faces of the sleepers. The offenders 
had once more slipped through their fingers. Out- 
side, the reserves were impatiently kicking their heels 
in eager anticipation of the coming fray, and there 
was a rumble of disappointment when the scouts re- 
ported failure. 

“ Now don’t you worry. They’ve got to come 
back some time and we’ll get them sure,” said Dad 
with the easy assurance of conscious strength. 
“ We’ll divide our forces. Two or three can 
keep guard here while the rest of us take a look 
around.” 

Until the small hours of the morning the restless 
search was kept up, with an intermission for a raid 


THE ADMIRAL’S REVENGE 


133 


on the biscuit boxes in the pantry. Then they went 
to bed, and a great stillness pervaded the camp. 

Meanwhile the refugees, with a blanket apiece, had 
betaken themselves to the woods in the nick of time. 

‘‘ It’s the easiest thing in the world to spend a 
night in the woods, don’t you know,” whispered the 
Admiral, with an assurance he did not feel, as they 
plunged into the gloom, to escape the vigilance of 
their pursuers. 

“ I’m blamed if I want to stay here all night,” 
snapped Thompson. ‘‘We ought never to have got 
into this scrape. It wasn’t decent and I know it.” 

“ Oh, that’s all dashed nonsense,” said the Admiral 
loftily, as he stumbled on in the darkness. “ Served 
the little upstart jolly well right and I’m not a bit 
sorry.” 

They were now in the very heart of the woods, an 
experience entirely new to them both. There was 
something awful in the silence and gloom of it. Mos- 
quitoes settled on them in swarms, and Thompson, ac- 
customed to the light and the noise of the city, had an 
unaccountable spasm of fear, 

“ Jiminy ! I’d rather go back and take my medicine 
than stand this,” he choked, as he swatted mosquitoes 
right and left. 

“ Let us lie down here and cover our faces so they 
can’t get at us,” suggested the Admiral, and they 
sought a comfortable spot on the ground. 

This was difficult, for there was much undergrowth 
and the ground was uneven. When they had finally 
settled themselves, they found that the pests attacked 


134 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


them even through their blankets. Through the trees 
they had seen the distant gleam of the lake, and they 
jumped up and pushed their way in that direction. 
A light breeze was blowing in from over the water and 
the mosquitoes left them for a time. 

They sat in gloomy silence. The feeling that they 
were hunted was not a pleasant one. Thompson felt 
that the whole camp had turned against him for a 
quarrel which was not his own. He was an over- 
grown, thoughtless boy of nineteen, who had not 
meant to do any harm. 

There was no sound but the whispering of the 
leaves, the swish of the waves against the shore, and 
an occasional shout which told that the vigilants were 
still at work. 

Though they would not have acknowledged it to 
each other, the mystery and the silence of the dark 
forest dismayed them. 

Thompson was a city boy with no experiences in 
the open, and the Admiral had been but a few months 
in the country. At this moment there came to his 
mind all the blood-curdling stories he had read of 
the Canadian forests, and they were not comforting. 

Suddenly there was another sound, illusive, indeter- 
minate, uncertain, but one which made Thompson’s 
heart beat faster and his face grow white in the dark- 
ness. It was as of a heavy body making its way 
slowly over the fallen leaves and through the under- 
brush. 

“ Bears!” 

Thompson breathed the word in a whisper, but it 


THE ADMIRAL’S REVENGE 


135 


was enough to throw the Admiral into a panic. In 
the thick woods at midnight, even the bravest man 
may be excused for being something of a coward. 

Looking wildly about, he noted that the long limbs 
of a tree hung over the water’s edge. In a moment 
he was shinning up its trunk, followed by Thompson. 

‘‘ Let’s get out onto a limb,” he suggested in a 
hoarse whisper, and suited the action to the word. 

A long arm stretched out straight over the water, 
and on this they ensconced themselves like chickens 
roosting in a storm — and strained their ears for 
further sound of their unknown foe. 

Again and again they heard it ; then all was silence, 
and they grew stiff and sore in their unnatural posi- 
tion. They dared not come down, and it seemed to 
Thompson that he had been there not for hours, but 
for days. Then the sounds at the camp ceased, and 
even the breeze died down. 

‘‘ Gee, I’m going to beat it. I’d rather be painted 
or be eaten by a bear than stand this any longer,” 
groaned Thompson at last, and he let himself drop to 
the ground. 

The Admiral reluctantly followed his example. 

“ Well, come on,” he said gruffly, and once more 
they gathered up their blankets and moved cautiously 
away. 

With some difficulty they found the road through 
the woods from the Chief’s bungalow, and followed it 
stumblingly to camp. There, they skirted the silent 
tents and making a detour, reached the athletic field. 
There was not a sound and no one was stirring. Evi- 


136 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


dently the searchers had given up and gone to bed. 
With a great sigh of relief, the two hunted ones rolled 
themselves in their blankets and lay down to sleep 
under the stars. In a few moments, undaunted by 
mosquitoes or fear of wild animals, they were sleep- 
ing the heavy sleep of exhaustion. 

Ere long the stars faded, the dawn broke and the 
sun rose, glinting long beams of light over the sleep- 
ing forms. Then the officer of the day came out and 
sounded the reveille. Still they slept on, and three 
minutes later the entire camp was gathered there 
for the setting up exercises. 

No pen could describe the scene which followed; 
the unholy glee of the camp in general, the con- 
sternation and chagrin of the victims, and the thor- 
ough and artistic way in which the punishment was 
executed. A can of red-lead was found at the engine 
house, and, clothed only in bathing trunks, they were 
painted in stripes like a barber’s pole, with appro- 
priate designs on their chests. Then they were har- 
nessed with ropes and held for the Chief’s inspection, 
and for their photographs, before being rushed off to 
the end of the long dock where they were uncere- 
moniously pitched in. Thus, the honor of Camp 
Couchiching was vindicated and the incident was 
closed. Whatever new disagreements might arise 
this one would never be revived again. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE DISPATCH RUNNERS 

THINNER hour at Camp Couchiching was a 
glorious occasion. One could do so many 
things at once. With one eye on the mail bag and 
the other glued on the kitchen door for the first sight 
of the dessert, one could at the same time satisfy the 
demands of a healthy appetite while listening to the 
boyish chatter all around him. 

Whitby’s table was a never-ending source of inter- 
est to Sandy. Just now the unfortunate Baggs in a 
sudden effort to spear a slice of bread at the other 
end of the table with his fork, upset his tea over the 
white oil cloth. Whitby arose in his wrath at one 
end of the table and Myer at the other, and Baggs 
dodged from resounding whacks on both sides of his 
head at once. 

Aw, wot yer doin’. I couldn’t ’elp it,” he cried, 
cowering back with his hands over his ears. 

That is part of your education, my son,” re- 
marked Myer coolly. A fork has its legitimate uses, 
but you haven’t learned what they are yet.” 

“ Didn’t you ask us to teach you table manners ? ” 
demanded Whitby, in injured tones. 

Yes, but I didn’t hask you to knock my bloomin’ 
’ead off,” whimpered Baggs. 

137 


138 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


“ That’s nothing. Just think what a bloomin’ 
sport you’ll be by the time we are through with 
you,” Myer reassured him. 

“ You see, Baggs, we have undertaken a heavy 
responsibility in your education, and we are going to 
carry it through, no matter what it costs,” declared 
Whitby gravely. 

Baggs looked appealingly up to Skin Lightwood, 
but that worthy was trying to attract “ Goo Goo’s ” 
attention for the purpose of obtaining a second or 
third helping of meat and vegetables, and was 
strictly neutral. 

‘‘ Well, if they’re not the limit,” exclaimed Sandy. 
‘‘ What do you suppose is the matter with that fel- 
low, that he is such a ninny? ” 

‘‘ Cigarettes,” replied Griswold laconically, as he 
ladled out generous portions of fruit pudding. 

Cigarettes,” repeated Sandy, in startled tones. 
« Why, what ” 

“ Yes, I fear that is Baggs’s chief trouble. He 
has probably smoked them since he was a child, and 
they have stunted him both mentally and physically.” 

But he is so anxious to do big things.” 

“ He has made poor preparation for it. His 
whole system is undermined, poor boy.” 

‘‘ Those fellows do run on him a lot.” 

Yes, the temptation is pretty strong, but Baggs 
won’t leave them. The Chief offered to put him in 
another tent, but he scorned the suggestion. Leave 
Skin Lightwood and his adored young gents! Not 
he.” 


THE DISPATCH RUNNERS' 139 


Sandy laughed, but his face grew grave and almost 
dismayed, as he thought of a certain package at the 
bottom of his trunk. He had not touched it since 
coming to camp, for there had been no time. Now 
he realized how utterly out of place it was in these 
surroundings. 

How had he ever thought cigarettes manly ? Then 
and there, he decided that that package should go to 
the bottom of the lake, first chance he got. 

He had been two weeks at camp and there was a 
new poise to his head and a more manly squaring 
of the shoulders. In the first weekly tests, he had 
won certificates in every class he had entered, and the 
world looked altogether different. He was far 
enough behind the best to keep him from being over 
elated, but he was full of hope and courage. 

Moreover, that momentous day in his life had 
come, when he had found his hero. Hugh Griswold, 
with his wonderfully expressive face, his strong love- 
ableness and his ability to do things, had won his 
boyish devotion and loyalty to an unusual degree. 
Back of it all, though, Sandy did not analyze it, the 
clean personality and the lofty purpose of the man 
stirred within him a desire for a nobler life than he 
had ever dreamed of. 

The Chief’s ringing tones commanded the atten- 
tion of every boy in the dining hall. He was an- 
nouncing a dispatch running contest, for three 
o’clock that afternoon. Fifteen or twenty boys were 
to make their way to Orillia, a distance by road of 
less than three miles. Each boy would carry a dis- 


140 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


patch, have it signed in Maxwell’s grocery and re- 
turn with it to the Chief — if he could. 

Twenty-five others, having a twenty minutes start, 
would try to intercept them on the way. If a boy 
got back with his dispatch, he won twenty points for 
his tent. If one intercepted a dispatch runner by 
touching him, he won five points. 

After the announcement the mail was distributed, 
three letters falling to Sandy’s share. A few min- 
utes later he was wildly waving a letter over his head 
and calling : 

‘‘ Oh, you Barney ! Come here, I’ve got some news 
for you.” 

Barney had stopped at the Chief’s table to play 
with the baby, who was left sitting in her high chair, 
but he hurried to Sandy at the first call. 

Dad’s got news of my watch, and he thinks he’ll 
have it in a few days, isn’t that great? ” 

“ That’s fine, where did he find it? ” 

‘‘ Doesn’t say ; Tom pawned it, I suppose.” 

Sandy’s face clouded at mention of the murderer, 
but Barney was full of the news, 

‘‘No odds, so long as you get your hands on it 
again: I tell you, I’m glad,” he exclaimed joyfully. 

“ Yes, and father says that he and mother and 
Alice are all coming up on parents’ day. They’re all 
tickled to death over the certificates and my weekly 
reports.” 

“ Huh!” 

“ Well, what’s the matter? You needn’t talk, for 
ggou got as many as I did. 


THE DISPATCH RUNNERS 


14.1 


Sure I did, but I don’t get off mj trolley, or get 
the big head as quick as you do.” 

Go on, you old duffer. Who’s off their trolley? 
Didn’t I give up joining the scouts for the present on 
your account.” 

Barney hesitated an instant and then a smile broke 
over his face. 

Sure you did,” he admitted readily, ‘‘ and it was 
mighty decent of you to wait tiU I could buy my 
scout uniform.” 

‘‘ Cut it out ; you know I wasn’t fishing for 
that. What about this afternoon though? I’m to 
be a dispatch runner. .What are you going to 
do? ” 

“ I’m going to catch you before you ever get your 
eyes on Orillia.” 

I think I see myself getting caught by a lobster 
like you.” 

Huh ! You’ll see it all right, keep your eye 
skinned for me, that’s all.” 

Oh, all right, catch me if you can, and good luck 
to you,” laughed Sandy, as he stuffed the letters into 
his pocket and sauntered over to the “rest cure,” to 
listen to the story of the London Marathon, as told 
by Jack Carewe. It was something to hear it from 
the lips of one who had taken part in that famous 
race, and whose name had been published throughout 
the world as an example of dogged courage in the 
face of sure defeat. 

When it was finished, the attacking forces of tHe 
afternoon started off to stretch the cordon, jwhicK 


14^ FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


was to prevent the worthy scouts from entering 
Orillia. 

To Sandy, this game appealed as nothing else had 
done since he came to camp. 

In it there was full scope for all the wealth of 
imagination of which he was capable. 

He started out with half a dozen others, but was 
soon left alone, as some found a conveyance, and 
others elected to go to Atherly, and go in by train, 
a commonplace method of reaching the desired point, 
which Sandy scorned. 

A train, forsooth ! Why, he was an Indian runner, 
who must by some means, worm his way through the 
woods to the frontier metropolis of the Hurons, 
which tradition says stood hundreds of years ago on 
the site of the present Orillia. Lurking in the woods 
behind trees and bushes, were the hostile Iroquois. 
He must outwit them. He would not choose the 
road or the open fields, but would keep to the woods, 
as became a Huron warrior. 

He remembered having read somewhere that a 
scout’s first business is to escape observation, and he 
proceeded to make himself as invisible as possible. 

He separated from his companions on the side of 
camp furthest from Orillia, and having seen Fat 
Wolcott and Billy Browne, running to Atherly, to 
catch the train there, and the other fellows pile into 
a baker’s cart on the Atherly road, he started 
through a field for the nearest woods. 

Wriggling his way noiselessly through the long 
grass, all senses alert for signs of the enemy, he came 


THE DISPATCH RUNNERS 


liS 

to the woods where the glinting birch and poplar 
showed light against the background of cedar and 
hemlock, and where the ground was mottled with the 
golden sunlight shining through the overspreading 
boughs. It was all silent, save for the twitter of 
birds, the tap, tap, of a wood-pecker, and the lazy 
intruding jingle of a cow-bell in the distance. Here 
it was easy to give full rein to his imagination; he 
had but to put his hand to his side to grasp toma- 
hawk, and bow and arrow, and when he turned his 
head, he could feel the breeze rippling through the 
feathers in his war bonnet. Choosing the soft places 
where there was nothing to crackle underfoot and 
avoiding innumerable twigs, he flitted from bush to 
bush, and from trunk to trunk, keeping his eyes and 
cars awake for signs of the enemy. 

He began to think that he was entirely alone in 
choosing the woods, when he became conscious of 
someone approaching. 

Dropping quickly behind a huge log, which was 
also screened by cedar branches, he waited breath- 
lessly. From behind this screen he was safe from ob- 
servation, while viewing the rapidly approaching 
enemy. What he saw almost made him laugh aloud. 
The dread foe was Skin Lightwood, coming along at 
an easy lope, with little Baggs panting at his heels. 

They were fellow dispatch runners, and Sandy 
made a move to signal to them, but decided to wait. 

I say. Skin, there hain’t no need o’ goin’ like 
that,” gasped Baggs as they neared Sandy’s hiding 
place. 


144 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


‘‘ Oh, come on, that ain’t fast,” cried Skin in a 
hoarse whisper, which all the woods could hear. 

‘‘ Not for you, your legs is so bloomin’ long, but 
for a hordinary fellow like me ” 

‘‘ Hordinary ! Oh, gosh ! ” Skin’s emotions 

choked him as he tried to keep them within bounds. 

“ There’s no use talkin’, Baggs, you and me’s 
freaks and no mistake,” he snickered, when he found 
his breath. 

Baggs looked half offended for an instant, but the 
thought of being classed with his hero, even as a 
freak, pleased him, and he beamed a happy smile on 
Skin. 

They had paused for a moment beside Sandy’s hid- 
ing place and now they moved on. A little further 
on. Skin’s quick eye noted a little brown bird scurry- 
ing over the ground in front of them and disappear- 
ing under a clump of ferns, 

‘‘ There’s a nest here somewhere,” he whispered, 
looking around among the wild flowers which grew 
thick under their feet. 

Not on the ground? ” 

“ Sure, and here it is. It’s got three eggs in it, 
and they’re beauties.” 

Baggs forgot all need of secrecy and threw him- 
self on the ground beside Skin, exclaiming eagerly. 

‘‘ You’ll go ’arves. Skin, won’t you? Sure, you’ll 
go ’arves.” 

“’Arves, what’s that?” jeered Skin contemptu- 
ously, as he held a protecting hand over the little 
brown nest so cunningly hidden among the leaves. 



YOUNG VIKINGS 



• 1 



THE DISPATCH RUNNERS 


145 


The tiny eggs were light blue with brown specks, and 
lay side by side like precious stones in a dark setting. 

‘‘ Go ’arves on the heggs ; I ’elped you find it, Skin, 
you know I did.” 

There was no one in camp more irresponsible or 
good natured than Skin Lightwood, but this was too 
much even for him. He loved all the wild things of 
the woods, and the thought of the little quivering 
brown thing among the ferns lent force to his 
words. 

‘^You low-down bird catcher!” he cried indig- 
riantly, do you think I’m going to rob a poor bird 
of her eggs? Get out of this.” 

He was towering over the protesting Baggs, when 
Sandy, who was an excited witness of the scene, al- 
most cried aloud at sight of two forms springing sud- 
denly from the woods. They had touched Lightwood 
and Baggs before they even knew they were there. 

You’re caught ! ” 

It’s all day with you now.” 

Back to the woods. Skin, you’re a bright scout, 
you are. We heard you chewing the rag from the 
other side of the woods.” 

Back to camp ; you’re out ! ” 

Skin looked crestfallen, and Baggs resentful, as 
Windy de Forrest and Harvey Jameison crowed over 
their easy capture. 

I’m not going back, I’m going to hunt around 
and catch some other guy,” declared Skin and started 
off with his captors, Baggs still following. 

Sandy lay still until they had disappeared in the 


146 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


direction of the road, and then crawled out with great 
caution. 

He had seen how easily a capture might be effected, 
and it made him more careful, if that were possible. 
He kept to the woods as far as he could, climbing 
over or under fallen logs, avoiding dead brush wood, 
and patiently making a way for himself through the 
interlacing boughs of the thick underbrush of spruce 
and balsam. 

At last he came to a place where the woods ended 
abruptly, and he was within a few hundred yards of a 
neat little farm house. A lane and an orchard sep- 
arated it from the road; and back of it, touching 
the edge of the woods at one end and stretching over 
many acres in the other direction, was a fragrant hay 
field. The hay had been cut, and the farmer and his 
boys were busy raking it into piles, ready for load- 
ing on to the hay rick on the morrow. 

They had finished that part of the field which lay 
between the house and the woods, and were now at 
work near the snake-fence, a field’s width directly 
back of the house. Two little children were having 
a merry time, covering each other up with the new 
hay, and at an open window a woman was singing at 
her work; 

God will take care of you, be not afraid, 

He is your safeguard in sunshine and shade.” 

From the edge of the woods Sandy viewed the 
scene. Beyond the hayfield was another open field. 


THE DISPATCH RUNNERS 


147 


and he decided to try the road for some distance at 
least. 

The best way to reach the road, he judged, was to 
stick to the hay field as far as the other side of the 
house, and then strike through the orchard. The 
hay cocks afforded some shelter from observation, 
and he carefully stole from one to the other, almost 
on hands and knees. 

The woman was still singing at her work, and 
through the open window there came the most de- 
lightful fragrance of raspberries, in the preserving 
kettle, and pastry hot from the oven. He had sud- 
den visions of Nor ah, and berry pie. 

Phew ! Wouldn’t it taste good that very minute if 
a fellow only had it. There was nobody like Nor ah, 
after all. 

One of the children ran to the house to speak to 
her mother, and left the other, a toddler of two, to 
keep up her work of carrying the sweet smelling hay 
from one pile to another. None of them had seen 
Sandy, and he was wondering whether he had better 
try to conceal himself altogether, or come out into 
the open and risk the consequences, when he saw 
something which made him turn cold with horror. 

I Up from the other end of the field, over the flat 
I swaths of mowed hay, at terrific speed, came a great 
! yellow thing with open mouth and lolling tongue, the 
white froth flying from it, as it dashed onward in a 
straight line. 

Directly in its pathway, laughing gleefully over 
the big load of hay she was carrying in her chubby 


148 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


arms, stood the baby. She was calling to her mother 
to look, but her mother did not hear. She was filling 
a jar with fruit while she sang: 

“ God will take care of you, be not afraid.” 

In a flash Sandy knew, it was a mad dog. He had 
heard of many of them that season. Could he reach 
the child in time to save it.'^ These thoughts were in 
his mind as he flew over the ground, and with one 
sweep of his arm, lifted the baby, and darted with it 
towards the nearest haycock. How far away even 
that refuge seemed, with the thing flashing over the 
field like a great yellow streak. Still the mother 
sang on; 

“ God will take care of you, through all the day. 

Shielding your footsteps, directing your way.” 

Ah, it was impossible. He could not reach the 
pile of hay in time. The thing was at his very back. 
Then, when all was lost, and he expected it to be upon 
him, there was a terrific roar, and a whirlwind in the 
shape of another tawny body shot past him from the 
opposite direction. He jumped aside as the two 
animals came together, like raging fiends. 

The mother saw and screamed, and the farmer and 
his sons ran from their work at the back of the field, 
not understanding what it was all about. The dog 
which had interfered so opportunely was a magnifi- 
cent Scotch collie, belonging to the farm, and the 


THE DISPATCH RUNNERS 


149 


struggle which followed was a fight to the death. 
The mother, with a gasping sob, snatched the baby 
from Sandy’s arms, and ran into the house, but the 
boys stood fascinated. 

The stranger, a great yellow brute, with foaming 
mouth and glittering blood-shot eyes, tore and 
snapped with all the frenzy of madness. He ripped 
and slashed the collie’s shoulders and neck, his teeth 
coming together like the jaws of a steel trap. There 
was no method or foresight in his attack, he was 
simply a furious maddened thing out to kill. 

The collie, quivering and bristling with rage, cir- 
cled around him in a vain effort to get at his throat. 
It was impossible. Sometimes he sank his fangs in 
the yellow dog’s shoulder or side, but it was always to 
be ripped and torn more seriously by his snarling, 
snapping opponent. 

The farmer who had gone into the house, came out 
with a gun. 

Promptly raising it to his shoulder, he fired twice, 
and the yellow dog dropped dead. 

His two boys uttered exclamations of relief, and 
ran towards the collie who was lying covered with 
blood, and whining piteously, now that the fight was 
over. 

“ Poor old Hero ! Brave old dog,” cried the young- 
est who was in tears. 

Go back ! ” ordered their father sternly, and 
they stopped short. 

The dog looked up with an appeal which was al- 
most human. Sandy thought that he had never seen 


150 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


eyes which seemed to speak as did the eyes of this 
brave dog. The animal looked from one to the other 
of the group standing about, and then tried to crawl 
to the feet of the man, standing stern and silent with 
the gun lying across his arm. 

The younger boy sobbed in a frightened way, and 
the woman came out swiftly, and with a quick glance 
took in the meaning of it all. She started forward 
with an exclamation. 

“Oh, John, not Hero! You wouldn’t shoot 
Hero!” 

The man silently motioned to her to return to the 
house, and she became deathly pale. 

“ Is there no other way ? ” she asked pleadingly, 
her voice trembling with emotion. 

“ There is no other,” he said, and she turned 
quickly away. 

Sandy stood rooted to the spot. In all his life 
he would never forget that moment. The smell of 
new-mown hay would always bring it back. 

The noble animal to whom he owed his life, lying 
there so sorely wounded, and vainly pleading for the 
help and sympathy which he had always known. 

The grief-stricken faces of the two boys, and the 
stern, set face of the tall man with the gun lying 
across his arm. Even as he looked, the man raised 
the gun to his shoulder, and the dog looked up with 
a whine of expectancy; there was a sharp report 
and it was all over; his aim had been mercifully 
true. 

The man lowered the gun with a groan. “ Now, 


THE DISPATCH RUNNERS 


151 


may God forgive me for this deed,” he cried in an- 
guish. 

Sandy turned away with quivering lip and tear- 
dimmed eyes. It had all happened so quickly, that 
he was dazed. 

He had come out for an afternoon’s fun, and had 
been suddenly thrown into the midst of tragedy. 
Without a word, he disappeared around the corner 
of the house and took up his journey to Orillia. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE WINNER 

S O much of the zest had gone out of the game of 
dispatch running, that Sandy listlessly wandered 
through the orchard without any attempt to hide 
himself. A lump rose in his throat and the tears to 
his eyes, when he thought of Hero, and the reward 
that had been his. It could not be helped he sup- 
posed, but surely they might have waited. He 
pushed his way through a hole in the fence and sat 
down on the edge of the road behind a clump of 
cedars. There was little fear of his being captured 
there as the hue and cry among the scouts had ad- 
vanced nearer to Orillia. He would go on in a few 
moments, when the turmoil in heart and brain be- 
came more settled. 

A cloud of dust just then showed that a vehicle 
was approaching on its way to town, and he decided 
to ask for a ride. When it came nearer, he saw that 
it was a farmer’s light wagon, with one occupant, a 
man with frowzy beard and hair, and a straw hat, his 
sleeves rolled up, and his shirt open at the neck, 
“What’s that, bub? Whoa, Bess! You want a 
ride, eh! Well, I s’pose there ain’t no objections,” 
he consented rather ungraciously, as Sandy stood be- 
fore him hat in hand. 


152 


THE WINNER 


153 


He reined in his horse for a moment, while Sandy 
jumped in beside him, his blue eyes glinting with 
curiosity and half disapproval. Sandy was not 
greatly preposessed by his appearance, for he was 
untidy, and his unkempt beard was streaked with 
brown, a result of his tobacco chewing habit appar- 
ently. 

‘‘ You see,” explained Sandy, “ we’re playing a 
game, and there are a lot of fellows along the road 
trying to catch me. If they see me they’ll try to 
climb up on to the wagon, so please drive fast if any 
of them come along.” 

Mr. Brown, for that was the farmer’s name, cast 
an uneasy glance in the direction of his passenger. 
‘‘You been long in Orillia? ” he asked, irrelevantly, 
as he flicked the mare lightly with the whip. 

“ Two weeks nearly, of course we’re not in 
Orillia.” 

“ Course not. How did you get out? ” 

“ Out of where ? ” 

“ Oh well, out of the place you’re staying at.” 

“ To-day, you mean? Oh, I came mostly by way 
of the woods, because I don’t want to be caught.” 

Mr. Brown changed the tobacco to the other side 
of his mouth and looked solemn. 

“ Who’s going to catch you? ” he asked warily. 

“ Why, the fellows ; there are twenty-five of them, 
and they had a twenty minutes start out of camp. 
They’re along the road here somewhere, I’ll bet a 
cent.” 

A light slowly broke over Mr. Brown’s face, and 


154 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


he looked Sandy squarely in the face for the first 
time. ‘‘ Are you one of the fellows from over at the 
boys’ camp ? ” he asked, with a nod of his head in the 
supposed direction of Camp Couchiching. 

« Yes, sir.” 

Well, if that don’t beat the Dutch ! I thought 
sure you was one of the idjits got out of the ’sylum, 
and I was just figurin’ on how I could get you back 
without any trouble.” 

Sandy laughed. He had heard of the Orillia Idiot 
Asylum, and knew what Mr. Brown meant. “ That’s 
one on you, then,” he retorted, “ but couldn’t we go 
a little faster. If any of the fellows tried they 
could touch me at this rate, than I’d be out of the 
game.” 

“ Now, bub, don’t you worry,” said Mr. Brown, 
reaching for his whip. ‘‘ If any son of a gun tries it, 
they’ll git the weight of this here whip, and don’t 
you forget it.” 

Sandy settled back half satisfied, while Bess 
jogged along at unhurried pace and Mr. Brown eyed 
him curiously. 

‘‘Got many fellas there this year? ” he asked, 
giving his head another jerk in the direction of camp. 

“ About a hundred I guess.” 

“ Jiminy ; it must take a lot o’ grub to keep you 
goin’.” 

“ I suppose so.” 

“ Feed you pretty well? ” 

“ Dandy.” 

“ You pay your board, I s’pose? ” 


THE WINNER 


155 


« Sure.” 

How much?” 

Sandy hesitated an instant. “ My father attends 
to that,” he said, with some dignity. 

Your pa rich? ” 

Sandy’s face flushed hotly under Mr. Brown’s 
cross questioning. “ What do you want to know 
for? ” he demanded irritably. 

Mr. Brown spat unconcernedly over the wheel. 
‘‘ I was just thinkin’ he must have money to burn, 
when he could send a big healthy fella like you up 
here to do nothin’ but bum around and play kid 
games all summer. I own a hundred acres o’ land 
with the finest buildin’s in the township, but my boys 
don’t have to go traipsin’ over the country to find 
something to do. They stay right at home where 
they belong, and I find chores enough for them to do, 
you bet.” 

His words grew more emphatic as he proceeded, 
and Sandy looked at him curiously, with an under- 
current of thankfulness in his heart that he at least, 
was not one of his boys. 

“ Don’t they ever have any good times at all? ” 
he asked, when the farmer paused to take breath. 

‘‘ Good times ! What’s that ? I tell you they have 
! a mighty sight better time than I ever had. I never 
j had anything but hard work, and they’re no better 
j ’n I am. They’re beginnin’ to take the bit in their 
I teeth now, but there’ll be trouble before they’re much 

i older, let me tell you Here, you rascals, git 

out o’ the way ! Easy, Bess ! Git up there, that’s a 


156 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


girl. Take that you son of a gun, and that, Jeeroos- 
alum ! I wish I had hold of you.” 

Sandy stood up in his excitement, for there in the 
middle of the road were three wildly waving figures, 
one of them Barney. Mr. Brown gave the mare a 
sharp clip with the whip and then swung it 
menacingly right and left. 

Bess sprang forward, and the attacking party 
jumped out of the way. 

“ I’ll teach you to come trying to stop me when 
I’m driving, you young rap-scallions,” shouted Mr. 
Brown threateningly, while Sandy’s triumphant re- 
marks were anything but complimentary, as they flew 
past the discomfited trio. 

“ Victory number one ! ” he remarked exultantly, 
when he was beyond shouting distance. 

“ Mighty good thing for them they didn’t come in 
range o’ my whip,” said Mr. Brown, with a regretful 
note in his voice. “ I was just in the humor to hit 
something that minute. 

Sandy sank back with something like a sigh. The 
farmer was failing to enter into the sporting spirit 
of the game, and his temper was somewhat ruffled. 

In his overall pocket he found a fresh piece of 
tobacco, which he chewed energetically. “ It’s all 
the blamedest tomfoolery, I ever heard tell of,” he 
declared emphatically. “ If you fellas was set to 
hoein’ potatoes or somethin’ useful like that for your 
livin’, you wouldn’t have time to be rangin’ the 
country like this.” 

Sandy ventured no reply. The unimaginative far- 


THE WINNER 


157 


mer was taking all the romance out of the game, and 
he contented himself for the next few minutes with 
letting his eyes range the road ahead, for further 
outposts of the enemy, his mind recurring again and 
again to the scene at the farm. 

A little later, he was sure he saw a form skulking 
in the shadow of the fence, some rods further on. 

“ Maybe it’s one of our fellows trying to get in 
without being seen,” he remarked to Mr. Brown, as 
he stood up for a better view. It was a camp boy, and 
that he was limping painfully, was his next discovery. 
Then he exclaimed suddenly, “ It’s Jim Phillips, and 
he’s lame. He can get in with us, can’t he.? ” 

Not if I know it,” said Mr. Brown with decision. 
But he’s lame, don’t you see ; he must have hurt 
his foot somehow, and he’s on our side,” persisted 
Sandy. 

‘‘ I don’t care who he is ; I let you in, but that 
doesn’t say I’m goin’ to be cartin’ round a lot of 
other lazy lubbers ; one’s enough.” 

Will you let him in if I get out.? ” 

Well of all the fools ! ” Mr. Brown spat copiously 
over the dash board before he could do justice to 
the situation. 

All right ; out you get. Come on, limpy ; don’t 
be all day about it. Gitep, Bess.” 

Jim climbed in, protesting over taking Sandy’s 
place, but Mr. Brown did not once glance in his 
direction, though he gave his whip an extra flourish, 
as he started off again. 

Sandy sprang to cover, and remained there till he 


158 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


watched the cloud of dust disappear from view along 
the white road. 

It was not altogether the Camp Couchiching spirit 
of help the other fellow that had landed him there. 
He had had enough of Mr. Brown, and was ready to 
take his chances afoot once more. He knew that the 
nearer he drew to Orillia, the greater would be the 
necessity of caution. According to the Chief’s plan 
of campaign he would be safe after reaching the rail- 
road station ; but how to get there was the question. 
As long as there were trees and long grass, or pros- 
trate trunks to hide behind, it was comparatively 
easy, but on the outskirts of a town, it was different. 
However, with much care and after two or three nar- 
row escapes, he came within sight of the station. 

Here he could choose between the railroad trade 
and the street, or he could make a detour of several 
blocks and come in on the other side of the station. 
He chose the street, as he was eager to reach the goal 
now that it was so near. He looked long and care- 
fully before venturing into view, but not a scout was 
visible anywhere. He realized too late that he had 
made a mistake in not changing his camp uniform 
for something less distinctive. 

There was no help for it at this stage of the game, 
however, and he sauntered forth with as careless a 
grace as possible, keeping eyes and ears alert for 
possible pursuit. 

The houses were, for the most part, frame cot- 
tages, standing in their own yards, with picket fences 
in front. A few groups of children played here and 


THE WINNER 


159 


tHere, but otherwise the street was deserted. Even 
around the station things were silent. 

He had gone but a short distance, when glancing 
back he saw a lithe form dart from behind a building, 
and start in pursuit, at the same time giving a warn- 
ing whoop and immediately the street seemed to be 
alive with scouts. They were not all at his back un- 
fortunately, for they were coming from all sides, and 
much too fast for his peace of mind. In front of 
him was a garden gate. For lack of a better refuge, 
he darted in and around to the back of the house. 

There he found a revolving clothes line, hung with 
quilts and blankets. Underneath it was a huge 
clothes-basket into which two quilts fresh from the 
I line had been hastily thrown. Sandy thought 
quickly. Like a flash, he jumped into the basket 
and pulled the quilts over him. 
j Not a whit too soon, however, for in a trice the 
pursuers were upon him. 

I" The blankets on the line partially concealed the 
5. basket, and all they saw was a basket of clean 
■’r clothes. Sandy trembled as he heard their eager 
. i steps and their baffled exclamations. 

“ He certainly came in here.” 

Sure he did, but where on earth is he ? ” 

Let’s look in the stable 
“ That’s where he is, now we’ll get him.” 
Fortunately for them all, the lady of the house 
had betaken herself to a neighbor’s for the afternoon. 
In a moment a shout came from the stable. 

‘‘ Come on, fellows, there’s a hole back here, he’s 


160 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


got out that way. Hurry up and we’ll catch 
him.” 

There was a rush and a scamper, and they were 
off the back way. 

Sandy did not wait for them to tire of the chase, 
but with the coast clear made for the station. When 
the baffled scouts came back he was there, happy and 
triumphant, on safe territory. 

It was still considerable distance up-town to Max- 
well’s where his dispatch was to be signed, but he had 
the company of his former foes and at the end, the 

inevitable dish of ice cream at Gibson’s No camp 

boy in his right senses ever visited Orillia without 
stopping in at Gibson’s. There they found Windy 
de Forrest behind the counter, loquaciously dispens- 
ing a mixture which he called ‘ The de Forrest Spe- 
cial.” The innovation took so well that everybody 
had to have a second or third dish, to be perfectly 
sure that he liked it. 

After that came the perilous journey back to 
camp, which was full of hairbreadth escapes, and ex- 
citement enough to satisfy even Sandy. Somehow, 
either by watchfulness and good sense, or sheer luck, 
he got in with his dispatch untouched. One of four 
who escaped the vigilance of the attacking party. 

There was not a happier boy in camp that night. 
He had always known he could do it, and now his 
first day’s real scouting had been a success from first 
to last. Of the incident at the farm, he said noth- 
ing, not even to Barney. 

The next morning at the line-up before breakfast. 



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THE WINNER 


161 


just as the signal was given for the flag to be raised 
to the top of the tall flag pole, and the long line of 
hungry youngsters burst forth into the strains of 
“Oh, Canada,” Sandy noticed a man stride through 
the pavilion, followed by a boy, and make directly for 
the Chief, who was standing on the steps. It was 
the tall farmer, and Sandy was conscious of a vague 
uneasiness as he saw him speak a few earnest words 
to the Chief, and then scan the ranks as though in 
search of someone. Had he come to complain of 
trespass on his property, or what.? 

“ He’s a freckle-faced chap with blue eyes, my 
wife says, and a nose that doesn’t turn up exactly 
but — oh, well — you know women always notice 
those things, I didn’t pay any attention to him my- 
self. Charlie’ll know him though.” 

Sandy was too far away to hear the conversation, 
but his nose gave him a great deal of trouble about 
that time, and as they scanned the long line of khaki 
trousered, gray shirted youths, all they saw of his 
face was an officious bandanna handkerchief. 

Jack Whitby, who was the officer of the day, gave 
the signal to go in to breakfast, and he lingered to 
the very last of the line with no other thought than 
that there was trouble ahead. 

“That’s him?” cried the boy, as he neared the 
foot of the steps. 

Sandy looked straight at the farmer then, and 
saw that he had nothing to fear. The man’s face 
was full of eager friendliness. Stepping forward, he 
grasped Sandy’s hand in his big brawny one. 


162 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


“ Say, you must have thought we were a mean lot, 
letting you go away yesterday without even thank- 
ing you for what you did,” he exclaimed, while Sandy 
stared at him in astonishment. What was the man 
talking about, anyway 

“ He saved my baby’s life,” explained the farmer 
to the Chief and gave a brief account of the scene 
in the hay field. 

The Chief was young enough to have lost none of 
his boy ideals. The fellow who did things loomed 
large in his sight, and he fairly gloried in a deed of 
this kind. His face glowed with appreciation, but he 
merely said in a casual way : “ That was fine ; you’re 
not doing half bad for a tenderfoot, Merrill.” 

Sandy stammered and turned crimson. That side 
of his adventure had never occurred to him. “ I 
didn’t do anything ” he said deprecatingly. “ It was 
the dog that did it, and I’m mighty sorry you had 
to shoot him.” 

“ So am I,” said the farmer, but look here ; my 
wife wants to see you. She says to come over to 
supper to-night. My name’s Findlay and I guess 
you know where to find us. Bring anybody else you 
like with you.” 

Sandy drew back; he had no desire to go and be 
made a hero of by the entire Findlay family. 

“ Oh, you’ve just got to come, for the Missus has 
been up baking for you since daylight. You’ll not 
starve. I’ll tell you that, and we won’t bother you by 
talking about what you did if you don’t want us to.” 

Sandy’s eyes sought the Chief’s before he accepted 


THE WINNER 


163 


the invitation. At the same time, there floated 
through his memory the grateful odor of hot pre- 
serves and berry pie. 

“ Certainly ; go along and take Barney with you,” 
said the Chief, and thus the matter was settled. 

The worst was to come, when the Chief arose after 
a little and told the story to the whole camp. Every 
body cheered and Bob Sparling demanded, What’s 
the matter with Sandy Merrill!” 

Never was the answer given with greater fervor 
and Sandy sat turning hot and cold by turns, and 
wanted to run away, 

Barney stared at him in mingled pride and aston- 
ishment, while the Chief was speaking, but when the 
cheers and applause died away, he merely remarked, 
as he stirred his coffee. ‘‘ Say, you duffer, don’t you 
go gettin’ stuck on yourself. We’ll take it out of 
you for this, and don’t you forget it.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


MRS. MERRILL AND THE WORLD OF SPORT 

P ARENTS’ day came and went so swiftly that 
before the boys realized it, it was gone. The 
invading host of fathers, mothers, aunts and cousins, 
swept over the camp like a conquering army, and the 
best that the camp afforded was theirs. Alexander 
had his choicest joints done to a turn five minutes 
after they arrived, and Jerry Walker was ready with 
his programme for the afternoon sports before the 
last relay of diners, smiling and satisfied, was stream- 
ing out of the pavilion. 

The boys had an array of new stunts with which 
to astonish their doting relatives, and the games were 
so arranged that everybody had a chance to show 
off. Besides the ordinary sports indulged in at any 
athletic meet, there were contests peculiar to camp 
and boy-scout life, including knot tying, lassooing, 
the lighting of scout fires and the cooking of dinners. 
War canoe races, swimming, diving, life saving, and 
water polo. So swiftly did the events follow on each 
other’s heels, that train time had come before the de- 
lighted visitors realized it. 

Sandy’s brain was in a whirl, in his new capacity 
of host to his own family. He was eager that they 
164 


MRS. MERRILL 


165 


should appreciate to the full, the merits of the place, 
and know the high standing of the men with whom 
he was associated. How could he work it that they 
would see him hobnobbing with Bob Sparling and 
Jack Carewe.^ That was the question. It would be 
the dizzy height of glory. And as for Hugh Gris- 
wold, it was a foregone conclusion that he and his 
father should be friends. 

Alice found friends of her own age, and Sandy only 
caught glimpses of her occasionally, fluttering here 
and there, a pretty girlish figure, surrounded always 
by a group of admirers. 

Mrs. Merrill went through the day as one in a 
dream. She had not favored the plan of sending 
Sandy to camp, and now while she could not deny 
that he was wonderfully improved, she found the air 
electric with the very things of which she so strongly 
disapproved. She felt herself an alien amidst all 
these sport enthusiasts, and marveled inwardly that 
there were mothers there who were even urging their 
boys on to greater feats of physical prowess. Be- 
side her during the foot-races was a dark-eyed, red- 
cheeked little woman, who so far forgot her dignity 
during the hundred yard dash in which both her son 
and Sandy participated, as to jump to her feet and 
shout, “ Go it, Jimmie ! go it, Jimmie ! go it, Jimmie! ” 
and when the boy won, her face was radiant with de- 
light. A few minutes later he was by her side accept- 
ing her congratulations. 

“ I heard you, mother, and it helped a whole lot,” 
he said, with a happy smile. 


166 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


Mrs. Merrill’s lips tightened. Well of all 
things ! ” she commented primly. 

During the race she had only been conscious of an 
overwhelming fear that Sandy would burst a blood 
vessel. Now as she observed this mother and son, 
there came to her something of a sense of loss. 
These weeks of separation from her boy had taught 
her how large a place he held in her life and love, 
but there had never been any such comradeship be- 
tween them as this. So far as she could see, there 
never would be. 

To Sandy’s delight, his father announced that he 
had engaged rooms in a hotel at the Narrows, and 
would remain over to the next day. The place was 
proving both a revelation and an inspiration to Mr. 
Merrill, and he was in no hurry to leave it. To- 
gether they watched the excursion party re-embark 
for Toronto, in the train which had backed up to 
the camp for that purpose. 

When the hurry-scurry of departure was over; 
the last plump matron having been boosted up to 
the car steps, the last fleeting challenge from bright 
eyes, and the last flutter of dainty handkerchiefs 
given, the Chief saved the situation. 

“ Now everybody swing in on the amateur per- 
formance ! ” he cried energetically. Let’s make 
it the biggest thing of the whole day.” 

Jerry Walker, who was gazing dreamily after the 
disappearing train, turned with a start, a rapt ex- 
pression in his blue eyes. Amateur performance.? 
Why, yes; certainly. He had forgotten. Of all 


MRS. MERRILL 


167 


the unromantic duffers in the world, the Chief was 
the worst. 

Jack Whitby and Ben Myer were already deep 
in the mysteries of make-up, and Skin Lightwood 
was besieging the Lady of the Bungalow for femi- 
nine garments lengthy enough to cover a six-feet- 
two frame. All the popular stunts of the season 
were to be brought out for the delectation of the 
remaining visitors, of whom there were not a few. 
To Mrs. Merrill, the scene was unique, and a fitting 
close to a most extraordinary day. The open-air 
pavilion, the flickering lights and the unconventional 
attire of the campers, together with the style of the 
performance, was new, to say the least, 

Sandy was very busy, as he was in much demand 
in different parts of the programme, but he found 
time to hurry to her side occasionally, to find out how 
she liked the act just concluded, and to assure her 
that the next one was to be a corker. He and Barney 
were waiting behind the curtain to take their places 
as part of the wonderfully trained camel, with which 
Ben Myer was to take the audience by storm, when 
suddenly the boys outside burst into song: 

The Admiral’s got a girl ! 

The Admiral’s got a girl! 

High over Jericho, 

The Admiral’s got a girl.” 

Peeping curiously through the curtain, Sandy 
saw what made his fists clench, and his eyes blaze. 


168 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


Seated on the edge of a table after the unconven- 
tional fashion of the place, and looking bewitchingly 
vivacious and pretty, was Alice with the Admiral 
by her side. He was holding her white coat and 
other belongings, and under the spell of her charms 
was positively genial. The song evidently took 
Alice’s fancy, for she laughed merrily and looked 
interestedly around the pavilion to see what it was 
all about, the Admiral meanwhile radiating with the 
pride of conquest. 

“ Gee, I’ll punch his head for that,” choked 
Sandy. 

“ Oh, you fusser ! ” called out Barney, with all a 
fourteen-year-old boy’s contempt for affairs of the 
heart. 

“ What I’d like to know, is how she got acquainted 
with that mut.” 

“ I — I introduced them,” confessed Barney, 
lamely. ^ 

Well, then, I owe you one, and I’ll hand it out 
to you, you bet,” threatened Sandy darkly, as they 
turned to answer to their call. 

Mrs. Merrill’s neighbor, a sweet, little old-fash- 
ioned lady, dressed in mourning, chatted entertain- 
ingly of the camp and its history. She knew every- 
thing about it and its marvelous growth. Her boy 
had been there every year for five years, she said. 
Mrs. Merrill felt drawn to her irresistibly, and was 
glad that at last there was someone in this sport- 
mad throng, to whom she might express her mind. 

“ The fact of the matter is,” she confided, “ I do 


MRS. MERRILL 


169 


not altogether like it here. There is a lack of — of 
the finer things of life; if you know what I mean. 
The games seem to me to be — well, almost brutal. 
My nerves have been on edge all day lest somebody 
should be hurt.” 

“Yes, indeed, I know just how you feel. You 
need a good nerve tonic.” The sympathy in the lit- 
tle lady’s voice was unmistakable. 

Mrs. Merrill’s chin tilted aggressively. “ Not by 
any means,” she pronounced emphatically. “ I sim- 
ply don’t believe in this sort of thing, that is all, 
and I cannot understand what everybody sees in it. 
They might, it seems to me, have less dangerous 
sports. I surely expect to see Sandy brought home 
with some serious injury.” 

“ That will never happen unless he is a very dis- 
obedient boy.” 

“ He is not that, but frankly, do you never worry 
about your boy? Some of the big boys might hurt 
him, you know.” 

A spasm crossed the little lady’s face, and she 
looked away out into the night. “ No, I never worry 
about John,” she said at length, with an odd little 
tremor in her voice. 

Mrs. Merrill did not pursue the subject, for her 
attention was called to the stage, where Jerry 
Walker was announcing the last attraction of the 
evening. A battle between the champion heavy- 
weight of camp. Dad Farrington on one side, and 
four brave warriors. Fat Wolcott, Windy de For- 
rest, Crullers, and Sandy Merrill on the other. 


170 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


The announcement was greeted with roars of ap- 
plause. Dad, on account of his untold strength and 
his happy disposition, was adored by the younger 
boys. Never had he known defeat where it was a 
matter of muscle. Wonderful were the stories told 
around the camp fire regarding his prowess, and the 
new boys regarded him with open-mouthed admira- 
tion as a giant of undefeated strength. 

Half the fun in camp was connected in some way 
with the combats with Dad, even though they in- 
variably ended in being laid across his knees and 
punished in the good old orthodox way. Last sea- 
son some wag had painted on his tent two open hands, 
and underneath, the words, ‘‘ The only tools he 
needs.” Though the device was a borrowed one, it 
fitted so well that it became his. The appellation 
Dad ” was one of real affection, and had first been 
given by the boys who had been with him on canoe 
trips, for that was his special work in camp. 

Jerry announced that he would meet his oppo- 
nents, not singly, but all four at one time. This 
especially delighted the blood-thirsty onlookers, and 
they howled with glee. Then the contestants stepped 
upon the stage and Mrs. Merrill gasped. 

The four boys were padded to the neck, some 
with pillows and others with straw stuffed into 
trousers and shirts, while Dad carried as little cloth- 
ing as the law allowed. With the muscles of steel 
standing out on arms and chest, he looked like some 
mighty gladiator of old. Mrs. Merrill’s eyes spar- 
kled angrily. 


MRS. MERRILL 


171 


Who is that horrible creature ? ” she demanded 
haughtily. 

The little lady’s face glowed, and a soft lovelight 
crept into her eyes. 

“ That? ” she repeated slowly and without resent- 
ment, why, that is my boy, John.” 

Mrs. Merrill’s astonishment was so great that she 
sank back in her seat without uttering a word. Nor 
did the sight of the conflict, as it waxed fast and 
furious, altogether revive her. Once she looked 
around helplessly for her husband, with a vague 
thought of stopping the bout, but he was laughing 
so heartily that he did not notice. 

Like a wolf pack, the four sprang upon Dad, 
Sandy climbing up his back. Windy pulling his hair, 
and Crullers tweaking his big toe, while Fat Wolcott 
made a vain attempt at a knockout blow. At the 
end of the third round. Dad was sitting on Crullers 
and Fat Wolcott, who were face downwards on the 
floor. With one hand he held Windy, and with the 
other quieted Sandy’s struggles for liberty. 

The victor was cheered to the echo, and it was 
voted a great fight. 

Mr. Merrill carried away with him that night the 
memory of a new look in his son’s face, a straight- 
ness of gaze, and something of a dawning purpose, 
which made him feel that it had been immensely 
worth while. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE HERO OF ST. JEAN 

T he next afternoon, Hugh Griswold met Sandy 
crossing the campus, with an unusually solemn 
expression on his lively countenance, and remem- 
bered that he had just been saying good-by to his 
family at the Atherly station. 

“ Hello, Sandy, I’ve been looking for you all 
over,” he cried cheerily. Take a squint with your 
weather-eye and tell me how you’d like to go for a 
sail in the dinghy.” 

Sandy squinted ” and the result was quite sat- 
isfactory. 

‘‘ You bet I’ll come,” he agreed emphatically. 

“ All right, come along and I’ll let you be the 
skipper and the whole crew, provided you allow the 
passenger to give directions about the handling of 
the boat.” 

‘‘Sure! When do we start?” 

“ In five minutes. I’m going to the office for a 
minute, and I’ll be right down.” 

Sandy had had just enough instruction in sailing 
to make him want more, and the prospect of an 
afternoon on the lake in Griswold’s company was 
an added attraction. He was on hand promptly at 
the waterfront, which was always a busy spot in the 
afternoons, and down at the end of the wharf found 
172 


THE HERO OF ST. JEAN 173 

the trim little craft looking like a cork on the 
water. 

The camp fleet, as usual, was nearly all in requisi- 
tion, either for instruction, pleasure or business. 
Two war canoe crews were practicing for a race 
with an Orillia Club, and the Admiral was taking a 
party of the younger boys to Couchiching Park in 
the Silver Spray, 

Sandy envied none of them, as under Griswold’s 
directions, he set his sail and cast adrift from his 
moorings at the wharf. This was a highly important 
occasion, for he was doing it all himself. 

With one hand on the tiller and the other on the 
sheet line, he navigated the little boat out of the 
sheltered bay, where the breeze was so slight that it 
was almost imperceptible. 

‘‘ Now then, Mr. Skipper, which way is the wind 
blowing? ” asked Griswold, as he sat back in luxuri- 
ant idleness, and watched Sandy’s eager efforts. 

Hold on a minute and I’ll tell you,” responded 
the doughty skipper, wetting the back of his hand 
with his tongue, and holding it up for the wind to 
blow on. 

“ From the west,” he announced triumphantly. 

‘ The boy guessed right the very first time,’ ” 
quoted Griswold. “ Now I think we had better 
sail around the west side of Chief’s Island. In 
that case, you will have to tack into the wind. Your 
sail is just a little too flat. There, that is better. 
Remember that in beating to windward, the sail 
should be kept full, and then when it begins to flap 
you know you are running too close to the wind.” 


174 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


In the open lake the breeze freshened somewhat, 
and Sandy found that he had his hands full at 
first to keep from running too close to the wind, but 
he quickly grasped the idea underlying the orders 
given, and did not often make the same mistake 
twice. 

It was a perfect day, and the scene was one of 
great beauty. The blue and silver of the cloud- 
flecked sky was reflected in the limpid depths of the 
water, and the atmosphere had all the crystal trans- 
parency of the north. Before them as they sailed 
westward, Orillia sloped up from the lake, looking 
like a veritable dream-city, while to the north, Big 
Chief, and Horse Shoe Island, stood distinct and 
clear as twin emeralds. 

Hugh Griswold consulted his watch. ‘‘ We have 
two hours ahead of us to do as we please in,” he 
said thoughtfully. “What shall we be? Pirates, 
filibusters or Iroquois braves? Take your choice. 
You can be either Captain Kidd, Henry de Cham- 
plain, or Big Chief Wind in the Face.” 

Sandy glanced at him quickly; he was evidently 
in earnest. “ Do you ever make believe? ” he asked, 
half fearful of an amused smile. 

“Lots of times. I often wonder if I’ll ever get 
over it. People who never make believe, miss a whole 
lot, don’t you think? ” 

Sandy nodded. This was new doctrine from a 
grown-up, but his attention was all needed now to 
come about on the other tack. When this was ac- 
complished and he was running along with the bow 


THE HERO OF ST. JEAN 


175 


of the boat in line with a barn on a distant hill, he 
said, I didn’t think anybody ever did it but me. 
What do you like to be best.'^ ” 

‘‘ Oh, I don’t know ; I’ve been everybody under 
the sun, I think, at one time or another. When I was 
a little chap, I liked Robin Hood best of all ” 

‘‘ So did I,” interrupted Sandy. “ Isn’t that 
funny! But now I’m dead stuck on Indians. I 
think it’s great here at camp, because you know they 
really were here one time. My, I wish I knew more 
about them ! ” 

Well, if it is any consolation to you to know 
it, they don’t improve on acquaintance! Your 
noble Indian of the past was a cruel, bloodthirsty 
creature.” 

“ Oh, I know that, but they were corkers to fight, 
and they had a dandy time of it, never having to 
work, or do anything they didn’t want to, such as 
wearing clothes or things like that.” 

Griswold laughed, and turned his attention to 
the running of the boat. 

They were rounding Chief’s Island by this time, 
and the breeze was growing stronger. “ Coil up 
the end of your sheet-line so that you will be ready 
to run it out in case a strong puff of wind strikes 
the sail,” he suggested, and Sandy obeyed. 

There was a sense of power in feeling the little 
craft dancing over the water, and obeying every 
slight touch at the tiller. 

When they had rounded the island and were sail- 
ing before the wind, Griswold returned to the sub- 


176 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


ject. “If you want to be thrilled through and 
through with the story of heroic deeds, then read 
about Brebeuf and his associates and what they did 
and suffered among the Hurons here.” 

“ I never heard of them.” 

“ There are many more like you, but let me tell 
you that in the history of this whole continent, there 
is no other story like it.” 

“ Who were they ? ” 

“ Catholic missionaries who came up from Quebec 
and lived here among the Indians when this coun- 
try was a vast wilderness.” 

“ Oh, missionaries ! ” repeated Sandy disap- 
pointedly. Then he remembered what Jerry Walker 
had told him of the man before him, and his eyes 
took fire. 

“ Tell me about them,” he urged eagerly. The 
word missionary was taking on new meaning. 

“ I wish I could,” replied Griswold earnestly, 
“ but there are some stories which you can never tell 
as they ought to be told. If I could paint a picture 
of these Indians with their filth, their vileness, their 
cruelty, and then help you to see the men who came 
among them, but I don’t think I can. They were 
Frenchmen of gentle birth and of the highest cul- 
ture. They came up from Quebec by way of the 
Upper Ottawa, Lake Nipissing and the French River 
into Georgian Bay, for the sole purpose of convert- 
ing the Hurons to Christianity. 

“ They were not wanted, of course, but they held 
on, living in Indian wigwams, suffering cold and hun- 


THE HERO OF ST. JEAN 


177 


ger and persecution, and finally death. The death 
of Brebeuf and Lalemant is one of the most stupen- 
dous stories of suffering and triumph over torture 
and death ever told. Then there was Gamier; I 
must tell you about him, because he died in the 
mission village of St. Jean Baptiste, which stood 
where Orillia now stands, they say. 

“ The Iroquois were on the war path, burning and 
killing everywhere. Brebeuf and Lalemant were 
dead, and the whole Huron nation was being ex- 
terminated, when one day early in December, a 
Christian Huron came to St. Jean with the news that 
the enemy were on the march to attack the village. 

The warriors were not afraid, and when, after 
a day or two, the enemy did not appear, they went 
out to meet the victory which was so slow in coming. 
They missed the Iroquois, who came by a round- 
about way, reaching the village when its protectors 
were absent. 

A man and woman who had just left St. Jean 
told them of its unprotected state, and they rushed 
in to do their dreadful work. 

‘‘There was only one white man there: Father 
Gamier, who was visiting the sick, when he heard the 
uproar, and knew only too well what it meant. 

“ A number of the Christians had rushed to the 
church, and he hastened there to give them his 
blessing, and to tell them to do their best to escape. 
They begged him to escape with them, but he re- 
fused, and hurried from cabin to cabin, even in the 
midst of the flames, baptizing and doing his best to 


178 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


help people to die well. There wasn’t anybody 
around to praise him, or to tell the story, but he 
never thought of himself : he knew his last hour had 
come, and right there where you are looking now, 
in the heart of the wilderness, far away from his 
own kind, he only thought of the souls of the dying 
savages. 

“ At last he was struck by a bullet, and a savage 
stripped him of his clothing. Even then he tried to 
crawl to a wounded man, but failed. 

“ The Iroquois hastened their departure lest the 
Huron warriors should return; that is how he and 
the others escaped worse torture. Those who were 
not killed, were taken captive. The old and weak 
were killed, and all who showed signs of grief: it 
was a crime to shed a tear, and they demanded that 
their prisoners should march to captivity as if they 
were marching to their triumph. One Christian 
mother wept for the death of her infant and was 
killed on the spot. 

“ The priests from the nearest mission village 
came to look for Father Garnier’s body, and when 
they found it they wrapped it in some of their own 
clothes and burled it where his church had been. 
One of them, writing about it later, said, ‘ It was 
truly a rich treasure to deposit in so desolate a 
spot.’ ” 

As Sandy listened, with his eyes turning again 
and again to the town at the end of the lake, the 
story was v^ry real to him. In imagination he 
could see, instead of the beautiful modern town, the 


THE HERO OF ST. JEAN 


179 


Indian village with its palisades and its cabins, and 
the dark forest hemming it in on all but its water 
side. He saw the hostile savages stealing from the 
forest gloom, and bursting upon the defenseless vil- 
lage to slay and burn; and clear and distinct in the 
picture was the figure of the man who stood alone 
amid the savage crew, a Christian hero, caring noth- 
ing for death or torture, his thought all for others, 
and for the Master whom he served. 

“ It was great ! ” he said, when the story was fin- 
ished. I’m glad you told me about it. I’ll al- 
ways think about it now when I see Orillia. I 
wonder why he did it; he could have got away if he 
had tried, I believe.” 

Griswold did not answer for a moment, but in his 
face was the light that Sandy sometimes saw there. 

I believe only one thing could make a man do a 
deed like that,” he said at length, and that is 
friendship with Jesus Christ. A fellow that is on 
speaking terms with Him, just feels like doing any- 
thing for Him. It isn’t hard. It’s easy.” 

Sandy was stirred as he had never been before. 
This was a kind of friendship he knew nothing about, 
but if Griswold found it worth doing and daring 
for, he wanted it, too. He always made up his mind 
quickly, and then and there he registered a resolve 
which was to bear fruit later. 

If Griswold read his thoughts, he wisely made no 
sign. 

“ What about the village warriors? ” asked Sandy 
after a pause. 


180 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


“ Oh, they grew uneasy after a couple of days, 
when they saw nothing of the enemy, and they has- 
tened back to find nothing but ash heaps and the 
ground strewn with the dead. 

“ They sat down on the ground without lifting 
their eyes, or uttering even a sigh: for half a day 
they sat there like marble statues, for that was the 
savage way of mourning.” 

“ It looks to me as though there might be a fire 
over there now,” remarked Sandy, pointing to a 
part of the town in the direction of the railway 
tracks, where an unusual volume of smoke had just 
begun to rise. 

“ That’s so, it does, but perhaps it is only an 
engine on the track.” 

“ It looks more like the work of an Injun,” punned 
Sandy, with a grin. 

“ Let’s get over there and we’ll find out. Don’t 
be afraid to let her run up on her beam ends a little. 
She’ll splash some, but we’re not afraid of water. 
She’ll make better time that way.” 

The little dinghy spun merrily over the water and 
they steered for the nearest dock, to what was prov- 
ing to be no small conflagration. Then it was that 
Sandy met with his first mishap. In his excitement, 
he failed to obey orders, and allowed the boat to get 
around so far that the sail jibed, and as the boom 
swung over, it rapped him on the head. 

Griswold uttered quick words of warning regard- 
ing carelessness of this kind as he grabbed the tiller 
and the sheet line, and brought the boat to the dock ; 


THE HERO OF ST. JEAN 


181 


where they were quickly followed by th6 camp launch 
and a number of canoes. 

They fastened their boats to the wharf and sped 
quickly to the point a few blocks away, where great 
sheets of flame and columns of smoke were belching 
forth from a large factory-like building. 

‘‘ It’s Gray’s furniture factory ! ” shouted some- 
one. There are tons of paint and gasoline there. 
If they don’t get it put out, there’s sure to be an 
explosion.” 


CHAPTER XV 


THE FIRE-FIGHTERS 

T he burning factory was a long, two-story 
building, surrounded by several smaller build- 
ings of the same concern, facing a street near the 
railroad tracks. So swiftly had the flames pro- 
gressed that it was now a roaring furnace. The 
town fire brigade was doing valiant work, but all 
to no purpose. The interior was a mass of flames, 
running up to the roof, shooting fiery tongues from 
every window and door, and belching out great 
gusts of blinding, choking smoke. It was only a 
question of moments when the roof would fall. The 
building was doomed, but everything must be done 
to keep the fire from spreading. 

In one of the smaller factory buildings was stored 
the gasoline and oil. Fortunately the wind blew the 
sparks in the opposite direction, but a hose played 
upon it constantly. All around there were small 
frame houses, the homes of working men, many of 
them in the path of the falling cinders. 

When Griswold and Sandy arrived on the scene 
they found excited crowds of the town people, as 
well as practically all of Camp Couchlchlng there 
ahead of them. The Chief was organizing a bucket 
brigade and the boys needed no urging to do their 
best. Many of them were in their bathing suits. 


THE FIRE-FIGHTERS 


183 


having rushed out from camp, not dreaming that 
the fire was as far away as Orillia. From hand to 
hand the buckets were passed, faster and yet faster 
as the strain of excitement grew. If the flames once 
spread to other buildings or reached the oil and 
gasoline, they would be beyond the control of the 
local fire department. 

Even the Admiral worked with a will, side by side 
with Whitby and Myer, and no one thought it 
strange. 

When the roof crashed in, the sparks flew like a 
fiery shower, and already the people in the frame 
cottages were working frantically to save their 
homes. Here and there a tiny flame would start up 
only to be extinguished by eager watchers, but there 
were so many places to guard at once, that 
there was grave danger at any moment of some 
place getting beyond control. It all depended 
upon volunteers and upon the owners, for the 
fire department had its hands full with the fac- 
tory. 

A little back from the other cottages, and par- 
tially hidden by heavily laden apple trees, stood a 
two-story, unpainted building, with no sign of life 
about it. It was not strange that no one noticed a 
sinister flame curling up its side wall, and eating 
silently and swiftly into the old wood, which was as 
dry as tinder. People were too busy rescuing their 
own belongings and enlisting the aid of volunteers 
to ward off the threatened destruction to their own 
homes. 


184} FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


It was not the time for sober thinking or ob- 
serving, but for frantic action. 

That morning the anxious and overworked widow 
McDonald had found it necessary to be up especially 
early, for it was her day to work for Mrs. Arnold, 
away on the further edge of the town. The three 
children were to be washed and fed, ready for school, 
and her aged and bed-ridden mother to be cared for 
and left comfortable for the day. It was cruel ne- 
cessity which drove her to leave the helpless invalid 
alone for the entire day, but there was no other way. 
Kind hearted neighbors looked in occasionally, and 
fortunately the sick woman’s wants were few. Those 
who visited “ Grandma Watson ” always came away 
refreshed and brightened, as one does who has seen 
an unexpected burst of sunshine. 

This afternoon she lay in her bare, whitewashed 
room, a weary little figure, with a heritage of pain, 
and a wealth of fragrant memories. She had not 
always been old and helpless. Once she had been 
the center of an interesting circle of friends, but 
she had outlived them all. She had had money and 
a comfortable home, but it, too, was gone. One 
thing alone remained, her faith in God, and her com- 
munion with the unseen. 

This it was, which made her old face shine with a 
hidden, inner light, and drew to her bedside many 
who were in need of comfort. 

Her bed had been so placed that she might look 
out of the window, and have all the pleasure that 
came from sunshine, blue sky and green trees. The 


THE FIRE-FIGHTERS 


185 


apples were her special delight and she had named 
them, every one. She had watched them grow from 
buds to blossoms, and from blossoms to green little 
knobs, which in turn had gradually developed into 
the sonsy red-cheeked apples of to-day. 

Out over the tree-tops she could see the factory, 
with its tall smoke stack and its sounds of busy, 
restless life. Her keen eyes saw the first signs of the 
fire and startled, and fascinated, she watched its 
progress. She knew the danger, and saw the wind 
sweep the sparks and cinders in her direction. She 
guessed the fruitless efforts of the firemen and heard 
the clamor of the excited throngs. She knew by 
some sixth sense, just when the stray sparks ig- 
nited in a sheltered crevice of the old tinder-box she 
called home. With bated breath she waited for the 
results, and they were not long in coming. First there 
were the tiny puffs of smoke across her window, 
then the hungry crackle of flames somewhere, not 
far away. 

Grandma Watson was not afraid of death; some- 
times she had even prayed that it might come, but 
never had she thought of its coming like this. To 
be caught like a rat in a trap, to be forgotten and 
left to die, when she might so easily be rescued, — if 
someone would only remember in time. It was 
hard. 

She raised herself in bed in white-faced horror, 
and tried to scream, but her voice died away in a 
terrified pant. Then falling back on the pillow, she 
closed her eyes, feeling that it was all over. Her 


186 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


voice could never be heard in the din outside, any- 
way. 

Just for an instant she lay there in awful de- 
spair; then a great light broke over her wrinkled 
old face, and she clasped her hands in an attitude of 
prayer. 

“Why, how could I forget?” she cried. “He 
has been with me all my journey, and He is with me 
now.” Then as the smoke thickened in the little 
room, she murmured in trembling, triumphant tones : 
“ ‘ When thou walkest through the fire thou shalt 
not be burned, neither shall the flame kindle upon 
thee.’ He said it ; and oh, it’s true, it’s true.” 

Then there was a fumbling at the door, and i€ 
suddenly burst open, admitting a man and a black 
cloud of smoke. The man, half blinded by the smoke, 
strode over to the bed, and Grandma held out her 
arms to him as an infant might to its mother. 

“ Why, boy, I just knew you’d come,” she gasped 
joyously. 

“ Yes, Grandma, I’m here,” said Hugh Griswold, 
as he gently and swiftly enveloped her in a woolen 
blanket and lifting her in his arms, started the peri- 
lous descent through the burning house. The 
woolen blanket prevented the fumes from choking 
Grandma, but her rescuer had no such protection. 
The stairs were already burning, and curling flames 
leaped along the railing as he staggered blindly down 
with his burden. He could not see, and all he knew 
was that somewhere ahead of him was a door which 
led to the open air. It seemed hours before he 


THE FIRE-FIGHTERS 


187 


reached it and ready hands relieved him of his load, 
while hungry flames leaped out after him. Only 
then did he realize that his bare right arm and 
shoulder were scorched in the furnace he had passed 
through. 

Ten minutes later the house was a charred ruin, 
and Grandma, for whom a bed had been improvised 
in a safe spot some distance away, was begging for 
a word with her rescuer, but he could not be found. 

The red-cheeked apples were baked on the trees, 
and the boys found time from their exciting duties 
to sample them occasionally, and pronounce them 
good. By this time people were frantically empty- 
ing their homes of their household goods, and the 
boys had set to work with a will to assist. Their 
intentions were of the best, but owing to the wild 
excitement of the moment, their success was not al- 
ways what it might be. They realized that every- 
thing possible must be got out of the houses at once ; 
and the result was that in some houses, mirrors, 
bedroom crockery, bureau drawers, and even watches 
and jewelry were pitched from upstair windows; 
while in others mattresses, pillows and clothing were 
carefully carried downstairs. 

It was refreshing to see Ben Myer, the critic and 
humorist of camp, come rushing out of a burning 
house, wildly holding aloft a pair of corsets and a 
bottle of soothing syrup which he had rescued. For 
once it was left for others to see the humor of the 
occasion. 

Some of the householders, however, managed to 


188 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


keep their self-control admirably. Among them was 
a tall, angular woman to whose assistance Sandy 
and Barney had hastened. 

“ Yes, you may help,” she said in a high, rasping 
voice, “ but mind you set everything out in the yard 
just where I tell you; I’ll have my eye on you.” 

“ Do you — do you think we want to steal your 
things ? ” exclaimed Sandy indignantly, as he stepped 
back. 

“No, I dont,” she snapped, “ but there are so 
many sharpers around at a time like this that a 
body’s got to be mighty careful. Here, take these 
chairs out quick.” 

The boys took the chairs ungraciously, and were 
soon running at her behests with everything port- 
able, assisted by a flock of children which it was 
hard to believe were all hers. There were ten of 
them of all sizes. 

“ The feather beds and quilts ’ll go in a pile over 
there in the corner, and Eliza Jane ’ll set on ’em. 
Tom, you set over beside the chairs and tables and 
don’t you let anybody lay a hand on ’em, d’ye hear? ” 

When the house was emptied, there were ten piles 
in the yard, and on each pile sat a solemn-faced 
youngster. 

“ I never take no chances,” remarked their mother 
grimly, as the boys turned away unthanked. 

On the back fence in the next yard, in the midst 
of the smoke and excitement, sat Fat Wolcott, 
munching baked apples and eagerly devouring the 
contents of a yellow-backed volume. 


THE FIRE-FIGHTERS 


189 


When Sandy hailed him, he triumphantly waved 
it aloft. “ It’s the history of the Shaw case, and 
it’s great ! ” he cried excitedly, “ I found it on 
that pile over there and there’s a whole lot more 
like it.” 

At last all danger of further conflagration was 
over: the flames were extinguished, and the crowds 
dispersed. 

Sandy had seen nothing of Griswold since his res- 
cue of Grandma Watson, and he hastened to the 
wharf where they had left the dinghy. 

He found him there with his shoulder and arm 
swathed in bandages, and his face unusually pale. 

“ No, I’m not badly hurt,” he said lightly in an- 
swer to Sandy’s startled exclamation. “ Some of 
the fellows have just been practicing first aid on me, 
that’s all. The Chief is coming back with us, so 
we’ll wait for him here.” 

The boys who had come in the war-canoes were 
starting back in high glee, each with a supply of 
paint, secured from the burning paint shop. It was 
for social purposes,” they explained. 

“No more mixing your tooth paste with your 
breakfast cocoa and your shoe polish this season, 
when there’s a social duty to perform,” exulted 
Jack Whitby, as he took his place at the stern and 
gave the signal to start. 

In a few minutes the Chief came hurrying down. 
“ I’ve just been having the time of my life,” he ex- 
claimed enthusiastically, while he loosened the boal: 
from her moorings. 


190 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


“ Paint ? ” inquired Sandy eagerly. 

‘‘ Fve just been in to see Grandma Watson,” he 
went on, ignoring the insinuation. “ You ought to 
have gone in to see her, Griswold, really.” 

“Not on your life; there is one thing I cannot 
stand, and that is fuss. I’d rather face a fire any 
day.” 

“ Well, anyway, you missed it. I’m not easily 
moved, but I feel as though I had had a little glimpse 
of Heaven. Though they have lost everything they 
owned, the old lady is so full of joy and praise over 
her deliverance that she is just bubbling over. She 
is eager to see the ‘ dear boy ’ who saved her and I 
have a whole string of messages for you, which I’ll 
give you from time to time. You head her prayer 
list from this time on. I found her at a neighbor’s 
where she had been taken in ; you see, the whole fam- 
ily is homeless.” 

“ Can nothing be done to help them.^ ” asked Gris- 
wold, his interest kindling at once. 

“ I don’t know, but I suppose the town will take; 
it up.” 

“ I’ll see about it this very day,” said Griswold 
with decision, and he kept his word. 


1 


CHAPTER XVI 
THE PIRATES 

A DAY’S scouting on Chief’s Island, how allur- 
ing it sounded! There were to be lessons in 
woodcraft and signaling, all sorts of trailing and 
tracking games, dinners cooked over scout fires and 
the fun of going and coming in the war-canoes. The 
disappointment to Sandy and Barney was keen, but 
if they wished to pass the second class swimming 
and life saving tests they must be on hand this morn- 
ing to get in all the practise possible. 

Sandy’s interest in scout work had not dwindled, 
though he had definitely decided not to join until 
after his return to Toronto, Mr. Adams, the scout 
master, had been very kind in teaching them so many 
things and the fact that he had charge of the ex- 
pedition promised much in the way of pleasure and 
instruction. Their faces were solemn as they 
watched the war-canoes fade into the distance, but 
they soon forgot in the zest of the day’s work. 

There was another whose chagrin at not being 
with the scouting party was of a more lasting char- 
acter, The Admiral was deeply offended that he, an 
assistant scout master and fellow countryman, should 
have been deliberately ignored by Adams when male- j 

ing up his party. The more he pondered over it, 

191 

-)■ 

’4 


192 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


the greater the slight seemed and he longed to get 
even. He mentioned the matter to Thompson, but 
received slight encouragement. That young man 
had learned to look upon him with suspicion since 
the fracas in which they had both figured so promi- 
nently. After that he consulted only with himself, 
and to such good purpose that after a word with 
the Chief, he appeared at dinner, his ruddy counte- 
nance fairly oozing satisfaction. 

As Sandy ate his dinner, his thoughts were with 
the scouts, cooking their meal over the little fires 
and eating it under the blue sky. For once he had 
nothing special to look forward to for the after- 
noon. Mr. Griswold was the officer of the day and 
consequently was occupied every moment with his 
duties. 

It was a relief, therefore, when the Chief an- 
nounced at the close of the meal that the Admiral 
would take a party over to Chief’s Island in the 
Silver Spray, while giving instructions in sailing. 
Sailing was Sandy’s latest craze and he decided to 
be on hand. 

Promptly at three o’clock, the Admiral stepped 
aboard the sail boat with all the dignity of the first 
officer of an Atlantic liner. His subordinates tum- 
bled into place over the sides, jostled each other and 
crowded in, fore and aft, until not an inch of space 
was unoccupied. With head erect and chest out, he 
trod the deck or tried to, where he could get a foot- 
ing, and issued orders, assigning to each learner his 
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THE PIRATES 


193 


‘‘ Jim Phillips, stand by the bow line.” 

“ Billy Browne, stand by the stern line.” 

Norman Hallock, take the tiller.” 

‘‘ Barney Allen, take the lookout on the bow- 
sprit.” 

Sandy listened eagerly as a dozen or more boya 
were placed in charge of jib halyard, jib sheet, 
foresail, peak halyard, throat halyard, and so on. 
Barney was already astride the bowsprit, under the 
impression that the safety of the expedition depended 
entirely on him. His business was to keep a lookout 
for shoals, and call a warning. There were not a 
few of these in Lake Couchiching, so his position was 
not a sinecure. 

It was too much for Sandy; he could stand it 
no longer. ‘‘ What am I to do ? ” he interrupted 
rashly. 

‘‘ You’ll do as you’re told,” roared the Admiral, 
who was now in his element. “ Stand by the pump 
for your interference, sir; I’ll teach you who’s run-' 
ning this business, by Jove.” 

Sandy meekly took his place at the pump amid 
the grins of his companions. Everybody knew what 
the work there meant, for the Silver Spray was any- 
thing but water-tight. 

Now then, hoist the mainsail,” shouted the com- 
mander, “ Here, you greenhorns ; offer no sugges- 
tions. My word, but I’ll have to teach you who is 
in command here.” 

“ Steady there, you’re too high witH that peaE 
halyard.” 


194 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


‘‘ Faster there with the throat, d’ye hear? ” 

“ Hello there, you landlubbers, don’t you see that 
the jaws of the boom are jammed, and that you can 
never hoist that throat with the peak up in the air 
that way ? Lower your peak, and use your miserable 
brains once in a while.” 

‘‘ Now, get that throat belayed there. Quick, you 
blockheads, don’t stand around. There, look what 
you’ve done; you’ve got the bag all out of the sail. 
Now you’ve got it so low that the boom will strike 
the man at the tiller.” 

“ All right. Hoist your foresail. Let go your 
bow line.” 

“ Port your helm.” 

“ Lower your center board.” 

‘‘ Quick, there. Push her off ! ” 

Skin Lightwood, who had bestowed his tall form 
at full length across half a dozen other passengers, 
raised himself, and adjusting a make-believe monocle 
to his eye, slowly surveyed the Admiral. 

“ My word! ” he ejaculated, and sank back, over- 
come. 

There was a general sigh of relief from the crew 
when the turmoil of starting was over, and with a 
light breeze blowing, the boat gently swung out of 
the bay. 

When the Chief was in command, or gave sailing 
instruction, which he frequently did, it was so differ- 
ent. Then everybody hung on his slightest word and 
jumped to do his bidding, and the boy who was given 
the hardest task was the most highly favored. The 


THE PIRATES 


195 


Admiral’s tone and manner stirred resentment, even 
in the hearts of those most anxious to learn. 

“ Set your sails for Kilgour’s Point, for the first 
tack,” he shouted, and the tars obeyed rather sul- 
lenly. 

Here the unemployed grew so noisy, that even 
the Admiral’s stentorian tones could not be heard 
at the other end of the boat, whereupon his rage be- 
came so terrible, that he frightened them into silence 
for the space of three minutes. 

I’ll j oily well show you who you’re dealing 
with,” he threatened in the interval of silence. 
‘‘ Billy Browne, on the order to come about, what do 
you do ? ” 

‘‘ I don’t know,” replied Billy, hesitatingly. 

“ You don’t know. Listen to him, the blockhead, 
after all I’ve done to try and teach him, he doesn’t 
know,” cried the Admiral, scathingly. 

I never took a lesson before,” exclaimed Billy, in- 
dignantly. 

Dashed nonsense. Hallock, you tell me.” 

^^Let fly the jib, ease off the foresail, haul in the 
mainsail.” 

“ All right, then ; everybody ready.” 

“ Ready ; come about ! ” 

There was a general flopping over to the other 
side by the passengers, and then the crew changed 
places, all but Sandy, whose arms were aching with 
his strenuous work at the pump. For some reason 
best known to himself, the Admiral left him there, 
and when sometimes he stopped to rest, a shout for 


196 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


the man at the pump to keep on working, would 
start him again. 

Meanwhile, Barney, astride the bowsprit, was hav- 
ing the time of his life. Before him and around him 
was the open lake, with its glittering expanse but 
slightly ruffled by the breeze. Away on the western 
shore, he could see the cluster of white tents of the 
children’s shelter, and to the north Chief’s Island was 
now getting nearer every moment. 

lie was straining his eyes for the first glimpse of 
the scouts, when a sudden shout behind him almost 
made him drop into the lake. 

Shoals ahead, you dolt ! ” 

It was the Admiral, and he quickly gave orders 
to the crew to avoid disaster. Just for a moment 
Barney had forgotten his duty, and he was sent back 
in disgrace. His discomfiture was Sandy’s gain, 
however, for he was ordered to take his place at the 
pump. 

Chief’s Island had received its name from being for 
generations the property of the Yellowheads, the 
hereditary chiefs of the Rama band of Indians. To 
the Indian it was sacred ground, and had never been 
occupied except as a place in which to bury the dead. 
As far back into the misty past as story and tradi- 
tion reached, even the bravest warrior stole past it 
in his birch-bark canoe with muffled paddles and 
bated breath. 

To him the sighing of the wind through the tall 
pine trees, the fluttering of the leaves of the moose 
maple along the shore, the lapping of the water on 


THE PIRATES 


197 


the stones and all the subdued, intangible sounds of 
the forest were but the voices of the mighty dead, 
who had passed over to the happy hunting grounds. 
It was left for the whites to invade its shores with 
alien feet and unheeding laughter, when out for a 
summer holiday. 

The Admiral had been to the island once with a 
scouting party, and he knew that in all probability 
the boys and their leaders were busily engaged in 
woodcraft instruction in a favorite spot on the other 
side of the island. He had counted on this in his 
secret plans for their discomfiture, and now grew 
anxious lest his plans should miscarry. 

The boys were now all eagerness for the first sight 
of the scouting party. When Sandy left the pump 
he was given no other post, and he stood with his 
eyes fixed on the wooded shores secretly hoping that 
he might be the first to see the boys. 

The island seemed utterly devoid of life, however, 
except for a white tent at its northern end. 

Dashed bad scouting,” grumbled the Ad- 
miral, with a hidden note of satisfaction in his 
voice. 

^ ‘^What’s the matter with it.^” demanded one of 
the bolder spirits. 

‘‘Matter enough; if Adams knew his business, 
he’d have sentries posted to warn him of the coming 
of a vessel.” 

“ Maybe he has, but isn’t letting us know all he’s 
doing.” 

“ Hello, I see the canoes,” cried Sandy, pointing 


198 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


to a sheltered cove at the extreme southern point 
of the island. 

All eyes were turned in that direction and it was 
quickly decided that Sandy was right. The two 
war-canoes were drawn up on the shore, but every- 
thing was as silent as the abode of the dead. The 
Admiral’s eyes shone with glee, and it was with dif- 
ficulty that he restrained himself. He stood looking 
out over the water while the boys discussed the situ- 
ation, and then remarked with exaggerated care- 
lessness, It would be dashed worth while to capture 
those canoes.” 

The idea took like wildfire; that was the very 
thing. Everybody wanted to have a hand in it, and 
the Admiral grew genial and companionable under 
the light of a big idea. Orders were given to come 
about; the anchor was dropped and the boat low- 
ered, and three sturdy volunteers were soon on their 
;way to make the capture. 

It was impossible to bring the Silver Spray very 
near to shore, as the water was quite shallow for 
a considerable distance out. 

I’ll show them that I can do better scouting with 
a lot of tenderfeet than they can with all their 
scouts,” said the Admiral proudly. 

The boys exchanged glances half amused, half in- 
dignant, for the Admiral’s blunders in woodcraft, 
and scout-craft, — in fact, in everything except sail- 
ing, was the joke of camp. Everything else was 
forgotten, however, when someone excitedly pointed 
out the scouts coming out of the woods to the 


THE PIRATES 


199 


shore a quarter of a mile further north on the 
island. 

They had evidently not seen the boat, which had 
just been pulled up on shore, neither were they seen 
by the three raiders. They had just come from a 
most interesting lesson in distinguishing trees and 
plants, and stood staring at the Silver Spray as if it 
had been a phantom ship. 

The Admiral grew beside himself with excitement. 
‘‘ Dash it all, why don’t they hurry up,” he cried 
angrily. “ Ahoy there ; hurry up with those canoes. 
Come back at once, d’ye hear? ” 

His bellowing voice rang out over the water like 
a siren on a foggy night, reaching the party of 
scouts on the shore as well as those he was trying 
to influence. 

Great Scott ! he’ll queer the whole business,” 
cried Jim Phillips. “ Come on, let’s mix them up,” 
and he proceeded to put into execution a very good 
imitation of semaphore signaling, an example which 
was followed by the others. 

The shore party was frankly puzzled: the Ad- 
miral’s frenzied shouts in which they could distin- 
guish the words ‘‘ war-canoes ” and hurry up,” 
together with the astonishing signaling of the boys, 
bewildered them, and they gazed in silence waiting 
for a clue, when suddenly from behind a point in 
the island, a war-canoe, manned by three campers, 
shot into view. Then the significance of the whole 
proceeding burst upon them. They had been out- 
witted, and by the Admiral, of all people. 


200 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


The scout law volunteers the information that 
“ a scout smiles and whistles under all circum- 
stances.” There are exceptions, and this was one 
of them. From the scoutmaster down to the young- 
est tenderfoot, they were angry and disgusted, and 
vowed dire vengeance upon the boat, its commander, 
and all its crew. 

Some of them even failed to see the humor of it 
when the black flag of the pirate, in the shape of 
Fat Wolcott’s dark flannel shirt, was run up to the 
mast-head, as the little vessel turned and sailed away 
under full sail in the brisk wind. 

In the meanwhile the Admiral was demanding why 
all three canoes had not been captured, but was 
mollified when he found that every paddle had been 
brought over, leaving the other canoes useless. 

No\?^ for home,” he cried exultantly, and gave 
orders to steer on the starboard tack, his face radi- 
ant with satisfaction. 

Not a boy stirred to obey, and he repeated the 
order impatiently. 

‘^You don’t mean to go back to camp and leave 
those fellows on the island with no way of getting 
home, do you.?” demanded Whltey Wilkinson, one 
of the older boys, and a tent leader, as he diligently 
and painstakingly printed the scout motto, “ be pre- 
pared ” on the handles of the captured paddles. 

To be sure I do. It’ll serve them j oily well 
right, too. Now quick, everybody.” 

‘‘No you don’t!” exclaimed half a dozen voices 
at once. “ We’re in for fun, but we’re decent.” 


THE PIRATES 


201 


“ Oh, all right ; then we’ll come back after sup- 
per.” 

“ Not on your life, we won’t, for we won’t go 
home,” asserted Whitey emphatically, and the other 
boys agreed unanimously. 

This was downright mutiny; but it was clearly 
final and the Admiral was forced to give in. Sulkily 
he gave the order to cruise around a little while in 
order to keep the scouts in suspense. 

His gloom was relieved somewhat by the appear- 
ance of a launch with a number of pretty girls on 
board. They were interested in the Silver Spray 
and its occupants, and even waved a laughing 
salute as they passed. The Admiral beamed on them 
as long as they were in sight. 

After sailing away to give the impression to the 
marooned party that they were deserted, they re- 
turned to the island only to find it as silent and for- 
saken as before. 

Not a scout came out of the woods to hail them, 
or to fling defiance at them. Apparently they had 
taken the matter philosophically, and had gone 
back to the study of trees and the finding of trails. 

‘‘ It’s mighty queer where they can be,” mused 
Sandy as he and Barney eagerly scanned the shore 
for signs of life. 

Now anybody can take the canoe and paddles 
back that wants to,” remarked the Admiral caus- 
tically, as they cast anchor once more. 

Before Sandy knew it he had tumbled into the 
war-canoe with a dozen other braves, and with his 


202 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


heart beating fast with excitement, silently kept 
time with his paddle. It took but a few minutes’ 
steady paddling to reach the sheltered spot from 
which the canoe had been taken. Before they 
reached the landing place they stopped and 
Whitey, who was in charge of the party, said, “ I 
think I had better go and investigate, and if there’s 
any trouble you just make off as fast as you can. 
Don’t let them get hold of you, whatever you do.” 

Oh, I say, let me come, too,” cried Sandy 
eagerly. 

“ All right, Merrill, come along, if you’re game,” 
replied Whitey, making off. Sandy jumped into the 
water, and in a moment they were cautiously climb- 
ing a rather steep bank a few feet back from shore, 
while their companions in the war-canoe watched 
their movements with breathless interest. The 
utter absence of sound or sign of human life on the 
island was suspicious. It was altogether unlikely 
that their movements were unwatched, and they 
must exercise the greatest care. 

A few days before there had come to the camp 
a young man, a German, who spoke little English, 
and that with great difficulty. The boys were sur- 
prised to find him sitting on a log beside a clump of 
underbrush, gazing abstractedly into space. 

“ Where are the fellows ? ” demanded Whitey, 
without preliminary salutation. 

The German looked dense, and slowly shook his 
head. “ I do not know,” he enunciated with delib- 
eration. 


THE PIRATES 


203 


^‘When will they be back?” 

They say not for one-half hour; I do not know.” 

Oh, all right. Come on, Merrill ; there’s no use 
hanging round here.” 

They turned to go, when such a blood-curdling 
war whoop as Chief’s Island had not heard in many 
a long moon, fairly lifted them off their feet. Every 
log and bush gave up its warrior, and they were sur- 
rounded. 

Whitey broke loose in the direction of the water, 
but for Sandy, retreat in that quarter was cut off, 
and he made a dash for the woods. His chances were 
small, and in a moment he was in the hands of the 
enemy. Two stern looking scouts pinioned his 
hands behind his back and he was tied securely to a 
tree, while the sound of tumult and shouting floated 
up to him from the water. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE CAPTIVE 

B y sheer fleetness of foot Whitey outstripped his 
enemies, and reached the war-canoe which stood 
ready to put out into deep water. He climbed into 
it in the nick of time, for the nearest scout almost 
had him in his grasp. The water was full of dis- 
gruntled scouts, wading up to their necks some of 
them, and hurling challenges to the canoe-party to 
come and fight it out in the water. 

The boys on the other hand were indignant that 
their friendly offices in bringing back the canoe 
and paddles should be so ungratefully re- 
ceived, and after a few choice epithets such as “ sore- 
heads,” cowards ” and so on, had been exchanged, 
they put back to the sailboat in no amiable state of 
mind, with one of their number a captive in the hands 
of the enemy. 

The Admiral was furious. Why didn’t you do 
as you were told, and leave the ungrateful curs to 
stay there for the night.? ” he stormed. We’ll do 
it now though, by Jove ! ” 

“ And leave Sandy there.? ” broke in Barney hotly. 
‘‘ Well, what if we do.? What business had he go- 
ing there and getting caught.? ” 

‘‘ Now see here,” said Norman Hallock, another 


THE CAPTIVE 


205 


of the boy leaders, “ let’s talk common sense. We 
never intended to take their old canoe away. It 
was all a joke from the start, and we can’t help it if 
they are sore over it. The canoe and paddles have 
got to go back, that’s all there is to it.” 

“ I’ll see them in Jericho first,” declared the Ad- 
miral emphatically. 

“ Why don’t you call for a couple of volunteers 
who are willing to sacrifice themselves,” suggested 
someone. 

The Admiral looked disgusted, but there was a 
chorus of approval from the ranks. 

“ I’ll go,” said Norman Hallock quietly. 

And I,” cried Whitey, who was itching to go 
back and fight it out. 

It was to be expected that Norman Hallock would 
go, for he loved the bright face of danger, and usually 
volunteered for any difficult task, whether it was 
climbing the tall flag-pole on the campus when that 
became a necessity, or acting as diver where the body 
of a drowned student was being sought for on Lake 
Simcoe, when volunteers were called for from the 
Y. M. C. A. camp for that purpose. He was cham- 
pion junior fencer of Canada, and was instructor in 
that department at camp. 

Once more the war-canoe with its cargo of paddles 
started on its way, and was watched with breathless 
interest by everyone on board the sailboat. The 
scouts still thirsting for blood, were wading around 
in the water awaiting the coming of the volunteers. 
They formed a cordon across the cove, and others ad- 


206 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


vanced to meet the canoe, as it was quite possible to 
do for a considerable distance in the shallow water. 
The watchers grew more and more excited, for the 
volunteers were paddling straight into the clutches 
of the enemy. But just when all seemed lost, the 
canoe swung suddenly around and shot quickly aside 
to deep water once more and to a spot a hundred 
yards away, where there was opportunity for a land- 
ing. 

Whitey and Hallock jumped out, pulled the canoe 
up as they ran, and then just a little faster than 
they had ever run before, they bounded up the steep 
bank, and off into the woods, with the enemy like a 
howling wolf-pack in full pursuit. 

Meanwhile, Sandy, a captive in the woods, chafing 
against the bonds which held him to the tree, had 
heard the din of battle. He could only guess what 
was going on. Judging by the angry exclamations 
of the shore party, and the receding and satisfied 
voices of those in the canoe, Whitey had escaped. If 
he could only work his hands loose he believed he 
could get away himself. Everything was silent and 
deserted in the woods, the attention of the scouts still 
being directed to the canoe and the Silver Spray, 
Persistently he wriggled and twisted his hands and 
wrists, ignoring the hurt made by the cords sinking 
into his flesh; at any moment the enemy might flock 
back. 

At last he succeeded in wrenching them free, and 
feeling that he had not an instant to lose, he reached 
for his knife, and quickly cut the cords that bound 


THE CAPTIVE 


207 


him to the tree. Just one free breath, and then for 
the woods and liberty, as with head down and lips 
compressed, he bounded off. 

‘‘No you don’t ! ” The voice was simultaneous 
with a jerk on his collar, and the blocking of his 
pathway. He was surrounded by three sturdy 
guards who held him relentlessly while he struggled 
for freedom. He fought desperately, and for a mo- 
ment hoped to win. During the weeks since he had 
come to camp his muscles had toughened and 
strengthened wonderfully, but his captors were no 
weaklings, and he was soon overcome. 

“ Let me go ! ” he choked wrathfully. “ Nice lot 
of fellows you are. Three of you piling on to one.” 

They laughed triumphantly. “ That’s all right, 
Sandy,” said Tim Jameison cheerfully. “ It’s back 
to the woods for yours till we’re through with you. 
No use getting sore over it though.” 

They were busily engaged in making his bonds 
doubly secure, when Whitey and Hallock bounded 
through the woods some distance away, followed by 
the hue and cry of the land party. 

Sandy felt the excitement of the chase surging 
all around him and then die away. After a little the 
pursuers came back in twos and threes, and he gath- 
ered from their words that as Whitey and Hallock 
had returned the canoe and paddles, they were to be 
let go where they pleased. 

After that the captive bound to the tree was the 
center of interest, and they inspected him judicially. 
He speculated curiously as to what his fate would be 


208 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


and he was not at all reassured when, after an inter- 
ested discussion with Jack Whitby and Ben Myer, 
Mr. Adams called a council of war to decide on the 
fate of the prisoner. Sandy noticed that a dozen of 
the boys withdrew, before the others gathered in a 
circle in a broad cleared space, just far enough away 
for him not to hear what they said. It was exasperat- 
ing, and he strained vainly at his fetters, succeeding 
only in making them sink deeper into his flesh. 

Through the trees he could catch a mere glimpse 
of the circle in which were seated Adams, Carewe, 
Windy de Forrest, and a dozen other familiar 
figures. There was much serious discussion, and 
then two boys came gravely forward and cut the 
prisoner’s cords, and conducted him to the council. 
Not the muscle of a face moved as an opening was 
made in the circle and he was marched up directly 
in front of the scoutmaster. Everything was grave 
and serious, suspiciously so. 

Sandy determined not to crawl,” and he walked 
with his head thrown back and an exaggerated look 
of unconcern on his round face. His eyes flashed 
defiance into those of the judge and he wanted to tell 
them all what he thought of them. 

“ Sandy Merrill ! ” The scoutmaster’s voice was 
severe and threatening, though Sandy thought he 
detected the slightest glint of amusement in the brown 
eyes into which he looked. “ Sandy Merrill, you have 
been tried before this council of war on the charge of 
a serious offense against the scouts here assembled, 
and have been found guilty. Now, listen to your sen- 


THE CAPTIVE 


209 


tence.” (“Oh, gee!” thought Sandy.) “You 
have come uninvited to this island, which is the habi- 
tation of the mighty warriors of the past. They 
are the brothers of the scouts, and they will carry 
out your sentence, which is this: You will be flayed 
alive, and boiled in an iron cauldron. I now call 
upon the spirits of the mighty, whose dwelling place 
is the happy hunting grounds, to come and perform 
the deed.” 

Sandy’s eyes fairly popped out of his head at what 
followed. From the woods behind him there glided 
noiselessly a dozen painted and half naked savages. 
It was small comfort that the skin under the 
grotesque daubs of paint was white, or that some of 
them looked strangely like old acquaintances. They 
were a hideous looking crew, armed with hatchets, 
knives and clubs, and the way in which they were 
painted made many an old warrior in the island turn 
over in his grave. 

Sandy’s two guards fell away and left him in their 
midst. Two of them proceeded to relieve him of his 
clothes, while others quickly and silently laid birch- 
bark and brushwood for a fire. On top of this was 
placed with great care a huge iron pot filled with 
water. It all looked tremendously real, and Sandy 
blinked to make sure he was not dreaming. He 
would not for the world have had them think that 
he cared, and he bore himself with supreme indiffer- 
ence, even when with ungentle hands they dropped 
him splashing into the pot. 

They placed the matches and birchbark ready foi: 


210 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


lighting, and then proceeded with frightful howls and 
yells to execute a war-dance around the victim, the 
scouts standing back, silent witnesses of the scene. 
To Sandy, jammed down into a pot of cold water, 
the situation was to say the least, an uncomfortable 
one, though if appearances and threats counted for 
anything, the water would soon be hot enough. 

He watched the painted savages circle round and 
round in their unearthly dance until he grew dizzy, 
and he wondered what would happen next. Then 
suddenly something did happen. So unlooked for 
was it, that the whole assemblage was stunned into 
inactivity for an instant. Out from the woods like 
veritable whirlwinds, there flew two figures, scattering 
dust and gravel around them, and into everybody’s 
faces as they went. Sandy felt himself jerked from 
the pot, and before he knew it, was flying down the 
hill to the water at breakneck speed, someone hold- 
ing his arm all the while. 

It was all a jumble, the cries of the pursuers in hot 
chase, the getting into the boat, and the pulling out 
into deep water, and to safety. 

It was Norman Hallock and Whitey who had been 
watching the scene from a sheltered nook and had 
planned the unique rescue. They had not expected 
it to be so easy, but it was the suddenness of the 
onslaught, together with the dust thrown into their 
faces which took the scouts off their feet, and gave 
the rescuers the start. 

They were jubilant, but Sandy felt that there was 
still something to be desired before his cup of happi- 


THE CAPTIVE 


211 


ness was full. Every stitch of his clothing was in 
the hands of the enemy, and his companions had 
nothing to spare. The Silver Spray was hovering 
about in the far distance, and at first it was doubtful 
whether she would come back to pick them up. At 
last, however, she swung around and headed for them, 
and in a little while, amid much cheering and a 
thousand eager questions, they climbed aboard. 
Skin Lightwood promptly bestowed his coat sweater 
upon Sandy, and thus arrayed he told the story of 
his adventures and timely rescue. Everyone was in 
high good humor over the day’s adventures, but it 
soon became evident that relations between the Ad- 
miral and the boys were strained. 

He was sulky and moody, and did not speak ex- 
cept to give necessary orders, which were obeyed with 
ill-concealed contempt. The rest of the time, he 
looked gloomily out over the waters, taking no part 
in the chatter and laughter around him. 

What do you think? ” confided Barney, when he 
got a chance to speak to Sandy. “ That crazy 
duffer wanted to go home and leave you fellows be- 
hind.” 

“ He did? ” 

Yes, sir, and because we wouldn’t, he’s sore. 
The fellows are all disgusted.” 

Gee ! he’s the limit, I must say.” 

He’s dirty,” declared Barney, summing up in a 
word the general verdict of the Admiral’s spirit. 

In the meanwhile the scouts had manned the war- 
canoes and started for home. They bent to their 


212 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


paddles in a business-like manner, not deigning to 
cast a glance in the direction of the sailboat. They 
evidently were in a hurry to get to camp, and this 
suggested a race, which for a time was quite exciting. 

The paddlers disdainfully kept their eyes in front 
and completely ignored the doubtful compliments 
shouted to them across the water by the younger 
fry. 

The worst of it was that they were soon seen to be 
gaining on the sailboat. The wind had fallen, and 
before half the distance was passed they had shot 
ahead, leaving the Silver Spray to creep after them 
in leisurely fashion, which was most exasperating 
under the circumstances. When they had disap- 
peared around the point into the bay, there was much 
speculation as to what their next move would be; 
and not until the Silver Spray came in sight of the 
wharf was suspense put to flight. They stood, a 
solid phalanx, armed with paddles, grimly waiting to 
pay off old scores to the full. 

The whole camp fleet seemed to have chosen the 
same moment for coming into the bay. The launch 
with the Chief and the Lady of the Bungalow aboard 
had just tied up to the wharf, besides half a dozen 
other boats. 

The party on the sailboat was eager for the fray, 
and before the anchor was well cast, the w^ter 
around the wharf was boiling with a struggling mass 
of boyhood. No one of either side escaped a thor- 
ough ducking: as soon as one felt that he had had 
enough, and crawled out, someone pulled him back 


THE CAPTIVE 


213 


in again. The Chief and others, who knew nothing 
of the proceedings of the afternoon, looked in laugh- 
ing astonishment at the fervor of the fight. 

At last when everyone had had enough, and felt 
in charity with his neighbors once more, the Ad- 
miral, who had received a little the worst of it, jumped 
on to the wharf, white with rage. One shoe and 
stocking had disappeared in the water ; his gray shirt 
was hanging over his trousers, while the water ran 
down in streams. He started to tell the scouts what 
he thought of them, when one of his own party 
shouted : “ Pitch him in,” and in an instant every- 
body was back in the water again, “ handing it to ” 
the luckless Admiral, as a mark of their disapproval 
towards a man who had done an ignoble act. 

Both sides were unanimous in declaring that they 
had not had such fun since they came to camp ; but 
the next morning, after a heart to heart talk with 
the Chief, the Admiral packed up and went home4 
He was a misfit, and knew it, and now even the 
youngest boy knew it. He had utterly failed to 
grasp the spirit of the camp, and all that the camp 
stood for. Ambition for self had been uppermost, 
and he was going home a failure. 


r’ 


CHAPTER XVIII 


ON THE TRAIL 



HALF dozen stay-at-homes stood on the wharf 


and waved a parting salute, as the camp fleet 
started gayly on its way to Washago, the first stage 
of the annual Muskoka trip. Not only was every 
boat requisitioned, but almost everyone in camp 
was there. 

The Silver Spray was fairly spilling over with 
jubilant youngsters, and the three war-canoes had 
full crews. The launch chug-chugged along with the 
Chief, the Lady of the Bungalow and little Couchie 
on board, while the little dinghy sailed jauntily off 
on its own tack, with a crew of four seasoned sailors. 

Moreover, a team of strong farm horses, and a hay- 
rack piled high with blankets and outfit, had driven 
out from camp a little after noon with Bruce Arm- 
strong, a School of Science man and scoutmaster, as 
teamster. 

Alexander, with his two aides, Goo Goo ” and 
“ Shorty,” was on board the Silver Spray to oversee 
the commissary department; but each boy was sup- 
plied with a little frying pan, a bowl and a spoon, 
with which he was supposed to cook and eat his food. 
These three articles dangled from his belt and added 
much to the picturesqueness, if not the tidiness, of the 
party. 


214 


ON THE TRAIL 


215 


Washago was a small village at the northern end 
of Lake Couchiching, where it emptied into the river 
Severn, on its way to Georgian Bay. The natives 
had grown accustomed to seeing the camp going 
through once a year, but were scarcely prepared for 
the invasion almost a hundred strong, which swooped 
down on them that evening at dusk. Immediately 
the town sat up and began to take stock of its sale- 
able merchandise. The presiding genius of the one 
grocery, tried not to look too elated as she perspir- 
ingly trotted back and forth with canned goods, bis- 
cuits, bottles of soda water and candy; the village 
bakery fired up for an all night session, and the 
owners of hens adjured them to work overtime, at the 
first streak of daylight. Such an opportunity came 
but once a year. 

Supper was an informal affair, and meant eating 
out of the hand in the middle of the street, with half 
the population of the village looking on. Sleeping 
accommodations were found in the “ town hall,” 
which had not been swept or aired since the various 
functions of the social whirl, the winter before: 
most of the boys preferred the street. Little 
Couchie and her mother spent the night with the 
baker’s family. The last to roll himself in his 
blanket was Bruce Armstrong, and he was supper- 
less. Like a faithful teamster, he had sought first 
the comfort of his horses, and when he came back 
the hungry horde had eaten the last crumb of the 
last loaf in town. 

In the morning the camp was early astir. Alex- 
ander built a fire in front of the ‘‘ town hall,” and 


216 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


extricating a couple of boilers from the hay rack, 
proceeded to get ready for breakfast. In one of the 
boilers he cooked oatmeal, and in the other boiled 
water for tea. All along the street little fires were 
lighted, and with bowls and frying pans, the boys 
lined up for their rations. Griswold and Jerry 
Walker were slicing ham and as they filed past, each 
boy received a slice, and an egg to cook. Alexander 
industriously stirred the oatmeal with a fence rail, 
while an assistant ladled out generous portions into 
the waiting bowls. 

Over a little fire which they shared together Sandy 
and Barney essayed their first cooking. To fry the 
ham was not so hard, but how to manipulate the egg 
was the question. It jumbled up in spite of them, 
while the ham was burned on one side and half cooked 
on the other. 

They were not hard to please, however. What 
boy would be on a glorious morning like this, when 
he was on tramp and as free as any gipsy that lived? 
It was not every day that a fellow could eat ham and 
eggs that he had cooked himself, and oatmeal por- 
ridge stirred with a fence rail, while the entire popu- 
lation of a village looked on. 

The wheels of progress stopped in Washago that 
morning. Not a washboard or smoothing iron was 
in use, and preserving kettles and workbaskets were 
relegated to their respective shelves. It was only 
when the last straggler had disappeared from view 
along the dusty road, that the villagers turned back 
to their duties with a “ Now what do you know about 


ON THE TRAIL 


S17 

that? ” expression of countenance. Nothing like it 
would happen again until this time next year. 

It was a notable procession that stretched out 
along the white road that day, toiling up and down 
the interminable Muskoka hills, stopping to feed on 
the berries that hung so invitingly by the wayside, 
resting at full length for a moment under the cool 
shadow of some overspreading maple or elm ; up and 
on again past the rock on which some roadside evan- 
gelist had inscribed in suggestively flaming charac- 
ters, After this the judgment past the primitive 
fields outlined with stump fences, and the fields from 
which the stumps had not yet been extracted ; and lin- 
gering fascinated on the bridge to gaze down at the 
waters of the Black River as they came tumbling 
over boulders and fallen logs on their way out of the 
canyon-like depths of the green forest. 

Little Couchie, seated on her father’s shoulder, or 
on that of some other stalwart member of the party, 
gurgled and crowed happily along. True daughter 
of the regiment that she was, she lived up to the best 
sporting traditions of the club, and would have 
scorned to whimper. When she grew sleepy, her 
mother took her into the hay rack, and together 
they rode along in approved gipsy fashion. 

Their pace was so leisurely and so much time was 
consumed in cooking dinner on the rocks by the road- 
side, that it was well on towards evening when they 
came in sight of Lake Koshee where they were to 
camp for the night. As they turned from the road 
through the farm yard to the shores of the lake. 


218 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


! 


Sandy looked in surprise on the wildness of the scene 
before him. 

Koshee was not a beautiful lake; its shores were 
flat and its waters dark. The whole region had been 
fire swept again and again ; the bare white trunks of 
towering pines standing here and there through the 
low second growth, like silent ghosts of vanished 
forests. 

There were two or three new, unpaInted summer 
cottages straggling along the shore not far from the 
farm house, and their presence seemed rather to ac- 
centuate the loneliness of the scene. Compared with 
the beauty of Lake Couchiching, it was desolation it- 
self, but somehow as Sandy viewed it in the light of 
the setting sun, he was gripped with the charm of it 
all. Hugh Griswold caught the look in his face and 
putting an arm around his shoulders, stood beside 
him silently. There was no need for words. Al- 
most anyone can appreciate beautiful scenery; but 
only the born wilderness lover knows the thrill and 
the magic of a lonely wind-swept lake at sunset. 
These two were akin and understood each other: 
the call of the wild, together with devotion to a great 
cause, had already led one far afield, and was to have 
no small influence on the life of the other. 

They stood on a shelf of rock which extended 
back from the shore for seventy-five or a hundred 
feet, and were not left long to meditation, for the 
campers were arriving thick and fast. 

Soon the wagon hove in sight, and was eagerly 
welcomed. Everybody was ravenously hungry, and 


ON THE TRAIL 


S19 


the long stretch of rocky shore was soon transformed 
into a very bee-hive of activity. Half a hundred 
scout-fires were soon alight, and in an incredibly 
short time Alexander had a boiler full of pancake 
batter ready for distribution. There were many 
flat stones lying about and they afforded great scope 
for individuality in fire building. Under Griswold’s 
direction Sandy and Barney built a neat little range 
under the lee of the rock, with a discarded baking- 
powder tin, opened at both ends, for a chimney. 

It was a great success, and they helped Skin 
Lightwood and little Baggs make one like it when 
they had finished. 

The next thing was to line up with bowls and fry- 
ing pans for pancake batter and lard to fry it in. 
This accomplished, the real business of the evening 
was begun. The experience of the youthful cooks 
ranged all the way from comedy to tragedy, usually 
partaking a little of both. 

Barney stood helplessly looking down at the fire, 
with a bowlful of batter in one hand, and a pan of 
grease in the other. 

“ Gee, it’d be easier to drink it,” he sighed dole- 
fully. “ How’s a fellow going to cook all this in that 
little pan, I’d like to know, and where am I going to 
keep the grease while I’m frying it? ” 

‘‘ Never mind, sonny, you just watch your uncle,” 
comforted Skin Lightwood, whose fire was close by. 

Well, hurry up then, for I’m starved,” urged 
Barney, and sat down to watch operations, Gris- 
wold and Sandy not having returned yet. 


220 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


“ All right. Now first thing you’ve got to get’s a 
dish for your grease and here’s the identical thing,” 
remarked Skin, picking up a small flat stone and 
transferring to it the lard from the frying pan. 

“ Ugh, that’s dirty,” objected Barney feebly. 

“Aw, g’wan. What d’ye think we’re running 
here.? A twenty dollar a day joint.^ If there’s any 
dirt there, it’s good clean dirt and don’t you for- 
get it.” 

“ Oh, fire ahead, and don’t chin so much, I want to 
see how you do it since you’re so smart.” 

“ Sure, if you’ll just quit your butting in. This 
is a domestic science lesson and you’ve got to take it 
serious. It ain’t respectful to be chewing the rag 
with your teacher. You get your pan blazing hot 
like this, with lots of grease in, and then you dump in 

your batter this way. It’s as easy as . Oh — 

gee ! ” 

Skin attacked the burning contents of the pan 
with his spoon, stirring it vigorously until it rolled 
itself into a half raw, half scorched ball, which he 
contemplated with crestfallen countenance. 

“ Well, I’ll be — ^jiggered! ” he ejaculated, when all 
hope was gone. 

Barney frowned ; he was far too hungry to see any 
humor in the situation. 

“ Say, of all the bum teachers I ever got hooked 
up with, you’re the worst,” he remarked disdainfully 
and returned to his own fire, where Griswold and 
Sandy had just begun their cooking. 

Under Griswold’s supervision things went better. 


ON THE TRAIL 


221 


He was an experienced camper and knew how to 
smooth away all difficulties. Soon they were all 
“ flopping ” pan cakes and a merry time they had of 
it. If one flopped into the sand instead of back into 
the frying pan, it was all the more fun. 

It was a beautiful scene that the cottagers watched 
that night from their piazzas, as the dusk deepened 
into darkness over Lake Koshee. Half a hundred fires 
stretched along the rocky shore, with a hundred 
forms busily engaged in the joyful task of supper; 
some half screened by the darkness, their faces show- 
ing in the bright firelight, and others standing sil- 
houetted against the light. By and by the smaller 
fires died down and a larger fire was lighted, around 
which an ever widening circle gathered. Then over 
the waters there floated clear and strong and joyous 
the enthusiastic chorus of a popular song. The cot- 
tagers could stand it no longer, but arose in a body 
saying, “ We will go and see this strange thing which 
has come to pass.” 

They gathered, an interested group outside the 
charmed circle, and remained until the last word had 
been said, the last song sung, and everybody ordered 
to turn in for the night. Song after song was 
poured forth with all the fervor and vim of youth, 
and everyone who had a ‘‘ stunt ” of any kind was 
forced out to perform it. 

Alexander sang “ Mona,” and was applauded as 
rapturously as if he had never sung it before. Jack 
Whitby, Norman Hallock, Skin Lightwood and many 
others gave of their best. Hugh Griswold told a 


222 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


breezy story of the west, and then the Chief called 
on a new boy, Alfred Blake, to sing. He had only 
been in camp three days, and few knew that he was 
fast becoming known as the sweetest boy singer in 
Toronto. They saw only a shrinking, pale-faced 
little chap, with little experience in the athletic 
games in which they excelled, but when he stood there, 
the ruddy firelight lending a glow to his cheek and a 
new brightness to his eye, and with a perfect self- 
possession that few of the others had attained to be- 
gan to sing, they sat up and listened. 

The song itself was one to stir the very heart of a 
boy, and rendered as it was so wonderfully in the 
clear appealing voice with the fitful glow of the 
campfire lighting up the face of the singer, it was one 
never to be forgotten. 

“ They come when trumpets are calling. 

When danger threatens England and there’s fight- 
ing to be done, 

They come where trumpets are calling. 

To learn to march and shoot, and starve, and die 
by the gun ! 

Boys from the east and boys from the west, 
Some of the worst boys, and some of the best. 
Roughs of boys that bullied and fought. 

Boys that mothers have loved and taught. 
Learning to be heroes and gentlemen. 

“ The boys that we make into soldiers 
Are frank and strong, and bold, and true, and 
merry and bright. 


ON THE TRAIL 


The boys that we make into soldiers, 

They are grim and stern and fierce when full of the 
lust of fight. 

Starving silently in the ’leaguered town, 

Dying gayly before the fiag comes down, 
Always ready to help a friend. 

Never a fear for their latter end, 

That’s the sort of stuff for heroes.” 

When the song was done and the roar of applause 
had died away, a hush fell upon the circle. After 
the thrill and the pathos of it, to return to the shouts 
and laughter of a few moments ago, was impos- 
sible. The Chief, like a good leader, knew the 
psychological moment for a story when he came 
to it. 

The suggestion was greeted with enthusiasm. 
After all the Chief was the Chief, and there was no- 
body else quite like him: the very name they knew 
him by was a token of the grip he had on their love 
and loyalty. 

He had made the camp and the club, and was the 
personal friend of every boy connected with them. 
In the club with its hundreds of members, he was the 
hero of every new boy. It was a joy to be near him 
because he was the center of every activity and his 
fertile brain worked overtime evolving new plans for 
competition and achievement. They gave him whole- 
hearted attention, as seated on the ground, he told 
this story: 

“ Away back in the dim ages of the past, several 


FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


hundred years before the time of St. Patrick, there 
lived in Ireland a bright lad named Connell McCon- 
nell. Since ever he could remember he had been fired 
with ambition to be a famous man. He was a great 
hunter, and in every kind of outdoor life he easily led 
all the other boys in his community. He was big and 
strong, and so full of the joy of living that every- 
body loved him. As he grew up he became such a 
splendid fighter that he never knew defeat. While 
he was still a young man, Ireland was attacked by a 
foreign foe. The natives made a brave stand, but 
the enemy overran the country in vast numbers, and 
had superior knowledge of warfare. The island 
was soon subdued, and her chief men became cap- 
tives. The conquerors, as their custom was when 
they had subdued a country, proceeded to choose the 
very flower of the manhood of the land to take back 
and present to their king. 

“ They did this by a process of elimination. Their 
chief men had the prisoners brought before them and 
examined as to their ability and fitness to be soldiers. 

“ Only the tallest and strongest were selected, and 
among the hundred chosen, was Connell McConnell. 
A week later the second test was made. They were 
given feats of courage and daring, and tried as to 
their ability to use the crude weapons of the times. 
Again they underwent a personal examination as to 
physical fitness, and ten men were selected, of which 
Connell McConnell was one. 

This little group of ten men were the greatest 
athletes, the strongest and the most courageous, be- 



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ON THE TRAIL 


225 


sides being the most perfect physically in all Ire- 
land. 

“ They were given one week to prepare themselves 
for a final test. Great interest and enthusiasm was 
displayed by the leaders of the invading army; the 
thing they loved and adored above all else was a 
splendid type of physical manhood; and these ten 
men were given every attention that the great 
athletes of their own country received. The soldiers 
made wagers with one another, and thought of little 
else but about who should be the winner. 

“ At last the day came, and to the satisfaction of 
the great majority, Connell McConnell was pro- 
nounced the finest man in all Ireland, and he it was 
who was taken back and presented to the king. 

In Ireland he was loved and revered as a hero, 
and the people always looked for him to come back 
and take his place as their leader and deliverer; and 
in the strange land to which he was taken, his one 
great ambition was to return to his own country and 
lead the warriors to victory. 

“ When the king looked upon the splendid looking 
young man who was brought before him, he fell in 
love with him: never had such a specimen come 
from any country. With his brilliant wit and his 
infectious good nature, he won hearts on every side, 
and the king gave him the freedom of the country, 
first placing him under oath never to leave it and 
never to carry a weapon. 

“ A year later the army returned again from an- 
other invasion in which they had been conquerors; 


226 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


tHe king was so pleased that he decided to com- 
memorate the occasion by allowing Connell McCon- 
nell to take a journey to a distant land. He pro- 
vided him with funds, and told him how to take his 
journey, and just as he was leaving his presence, 
presented him with a sword, first requiring of him 
an oath that he would never use it except in self-de- 
fense. Connell McConnell took the oath, and leaving 
the king’s presence, set his face towards a land in the 
east. After many days he landed at a sea-port town 
in a far country, and from there made his journey to 
a great city he had heard a great deal about. He 
reached it one beautiful morning in spring. The air 
had been cold the night before, but now the sun was 
shining and as he drank in the clear air, he felt like 
doing great deeds. 

“ The city was set about with hills, and a massive 
wall with many gates surrounded it. As Connell 
McConnell approached it, he was struck with its 
glittering temple and palaces ; but more than all, as 
he drew nearer he was impressed with a strangeness 
in the atmosphere; it was as though something 
terrible was impending. He felt a vague unrest and 
anxiety, and laid his hand upon his sword to reassure 
himself. 

“As he entered the nearest gate he saw a great 
tumult. Crowds of people were coming his way, the 
faces of many gleaming with hatred. In the throng 
he saw priests and soldiers, citizens and women: 
many of the latter were weeping. ‘ What was the 
meaning of it all? ’ he asked a maid, and she said in 


ON THE trail; 


227 

a frightened whisper that they were going to crucify 
a man. 

“ ‘ Why, what has he done? ’ 

^ Oh, I don’t know,’ she answered, weeping. ^ I 
only know he was a great doctor, for he cured my 
father who had been sick for years, and he did it 
free, and was so kind and good to everybody. 

‘‘ Connell was interested, and he pushed his way 
through the crowd until at last he got a glimpse of 
the condemned man. He was bending under the 
weight of a heavy cross he was carrying, and the 
crowd jeered and laughed as he stumbled and fell. 
;When he tried to rise, a man gave him a rude push. 
All Connell McConnell’s sympathies and sense of 
justice were stirred for the condemned man. In- 
stinctively he reached for his sword, and he was about 
to pierce the man through when he thought of his 
oath to the king. He must not break it. 

He followed the throng outside the city gate, and 
saw the soldiers crucify the man with two others. 
He watched the soldiers casting lots for the garments 
of the man, and when the crowd dispersed, he stood 
and looked at him as he hung on the cross. Many 
thoughts were going through the heart of Connell 
McConnell at that time. Never had he seen a man 
like this; and when at last a soldier came and 
pierced the side of the crucified one with his spear, 
Connell rushed at him with his drawn sword. Then 
once more he remembered his oath to the king, and in 
an agony he dropped on his knees at the foot of the 
cross. The man was dead, but from his side the 


m FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


blood trickled down and a huge drop fell on the fore- 
head of Connell McConnell. From that instant he 
was a changed man. The desire to be a great war- 
rior and to lead the military forces of Ireland to vic- 
tory gave way to a great love for humanity, and a 
desire to live and die for the man on the cross. He 
went forth to do and to dare, and suffer in a new 
cause, his heart full of peace and joy. 

“ Thirty years later the chief men of Ireland were 
assembled in a huge banqueting hall. Once a year, 
ever since Connell McConnell left the country, they 
had met there. One chair at the head of the table 
was always left vacant, for all Ireland still hoped 
that some day he would come back and take his place 
as their leader. 

“ That evening they had just risen from their 
seats to drink their annual toast to the absent one, 
when the door opened and an old man, with flowing 
white hair and beard, entered. His step was falter- 
ing and his form bent, but every man present rec- 
ognized him as Connell McConnell. They crowded 
around him with warm handclasps and joyous words 
of welcome. He was old and shabby, but he was 
Connell McConnell still. 

They were eager to hear the story of his adven- 
tures, of the strange lands he had visited, and of the 
great deeds of prowess he had done. 

“ Then Connell McConnell stood and told first of 
the gay capital, and the favors bestowed upon him by 
the king. Then as though it had happened but yes- 
terday, he told the story of the man upon the cross, 


ON THE TRAIL 


229 


and of all that his death meant to him and to the 
world. 

‘‘ They listened spellbound as, his face shining and 
his eyes alight with an inner fire, he recounted the 
story of the cross and told them that the man was 
alive again, and that his own life had been changed 
and filled with peace and happiness, all through ac- 
quaintance with him. He had left the life and am- 
bition of the warrior to serve this new master, and 
was devoting himself to helping the sick and dis- 
tressed, and leading people to leave a life of sin for 
one of service. 

‘‘ When he had finished there was silence in the 
banqueting hall. Then the bravest soldier among 
them arose, and holding aloft his drinking cup cried 
in stirring tones, ‘ I hereby pledge myself to join Con- 
nell McConnell in the service of his new master.’ The 
others arose as one man and solemnly pledged the 
same. Thus it was that Connell McConnell brought 
Christianity to Ireland long centuries before the days 
of St. Patrick.” 

The campfire had burned low and it was time to 
turn in for the night. As the boys rolled themselves 
in their blankets, the story of Connell McConnell 
followed them and mingled with their dreams, always 
with the insistent feeling that to be a follower of Con- 
nell McConnell’s Master would be a wonderful and a 
courageous thing. 

In the morning they were up and off on the long 
hot walk to Gravenhurst where they were to catch 
the boat for Port Carling. The next day after 


830 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


camping at Port Carling, they were to spend going 
around the three lakes in the steamer Sagamo, It 
was this prospect which made the weary walk less 
tiresome, and made them sing along the road in spita 
of the burning heat of the sun. 


CHAPTER XIX 


CAMP COUCHICHING AS CUPID 

rri HE day appointed for the boys to go around the 
^ lakes was one of rare beauty. And in all the 
world there was no fairer spot than the Muskoka 
lakes region. In a thousand charming nooks on 
land, and in the innumerable craft on the transparent 
waters, people were getting all the joy possible out 
of a summer holiday. The angler, the lover of soli- 
tude, the young and socially inclined — each was get- 
ting that which his heart craved. 

The Rev. Angus McWhirter was an exception, for 
he was not quite sure whether he was happy or not. 
He did know that he had been here for five ridicu- 
lously short weeks, and that each day had seen him 
more deeply in love with Margaret Dwight. Never 
before in his thirty-three years of life had he re- 
garded any woman with a stronger sentiment than 
that of warm personal friendship. Ever since he had 
taken the pastorate of the prosperous city church, 
he had been the despair of the matchmakers. They 
declared him to be slow, and blind to his dazzling op- 
portunities. All of which was probably true, for he 
never dreamed of the trouble they were taking on 
his behalf, and went on his untrammeled way as 
pastor and friend. 


231 


2S2 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


He had known Miss Dwight slightly for some 
months, and had admired her beauty and charm ; but 
only since coming to this delightful spot on Lake 
Rosseau, where he had been thrown constantly into 
her society, had he found that she was the one woman 
in all the world to him. 

The trouble was, that he did not know whether she 
looked upon him with any more favor than she did on 
any one of half a dozen other admirers. Sometimes 
he dared to hope. Once, for a brief intoxicating mo- 
ment, they had looked into each other’s eyes and he 
had been deliriously sure. 

Alas ! that moment was short-lived, for im- 
mediately she had smiled at him mockingly, and had 
shown her preference for somebody else. To-mor- 
row he was going back to his church and his people, 
and the words which haunted his dreams by night 
and burned on his lips by day, still remained un- 
spoken; and what was more, he knew that he would 
not have the courage to say them before going. He 
had obtained her consent to spend the day with him 
going around the lake in the steamer Sagamo, 
and that was bliss in itself. As to declaring 
his love, though his heart leaped at the thought 
if it, he was a canny Scot, with nothing precip- 
itate or rash in his make-up, and he determined to 
wait. 

Margaret Dwight was as beautiful in character as 
she was to look upon, and her winning personality 
won her many admirers. If the Reverend Angus 
was slow in pressing his suit, there were others who 


CAMP COUCHICHING AS CUPID 233 


were not so dilatory; and if courage and assurance 
counted for anything, he was doomed to defeat. 

With her married sister and twin nieces, she was 
staying at the same summer hotel. The sister was 
more or less of an invalid, and the care of the twins, 
aged ten, fell largely on Margaret. They were not 
ordinary children, but mischief-loving sprites, whose 
pranks were the talk of the colony. 

They were pretty children and general favorites, 
but with such a genius for getting into mischief, that 
it was a dull day when there was not some escapade 
of theirs for the rocking-chair brigade to talk over 
on the piazza. 

‘‘ Let us ask Aunt Margaret to take us over to 
Price’s Point to-day,” suggested Dorothy that morn- 
ing. There is to be a picnic over there and we 
can go in the launch. A lot of the girls are going.” 

Aunt Margaret can’t come,” said Florence 
promptly. 

How do you know.? ” 

I heard mother tell father that she was going on 
the Sagamo with Mr. McWhirter.” 

‘‘ She shan’t ; I’ll tell her not to.” 

‘‘ That won’t do a bit of good,” said Florence, 
shaking her fair curls. “ There’s worse than that, 
too.” 

What.? ” 

“ Mother said to father that she shouldn’t wonder 
if those two made a match of it yet.” 

‘‘ Oh ! that’s horrid.” 

“ Yes, that is what I say, but I think it would be 


23i FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


just splendid if we had a real big wedding at our 
house.” 

“Wouldn’t it?” cried Dorothy, taking fire. 
“ Think of all the fine clothes, and the cake and ice 
cream and stuff. It would be no end of fun. Then 
the rice throwing. I always wanted to throw rice 
at somebody.” 

“ So did I, but mother says that nice people don’t 
do it, so perhaps she wouldn’t let us Oh, Dor- 

othy, I’ve just thought of something. Don’t let’s 
wait. Let’s throw it after them to-day.” 

“ To-day? ” 

“ Yes, you goose, when they’re getting on the boat. 
It’ll be lots of fun. Everybody will think they’re 
just married.” 

Dorothy clapped her hands in delight. “ Come on, 
let us tell some of the other boys and girls, and we’ll 
give them a good shower,” she cried, and they darted 
past the Rev. Angus McWhirter, their curls flying, 
and looking a perfect picture of childish innocence. 

Promptly at eleven o’clock, the warning whistle of 
the Sagamo apprised the pleasure seekers that it was 
time to hasten down the long sloping hill from the 
hotel to the wharf. Mr. McWhirter possessed him- 
self of Miss Dwight’s coat, and neither of them 
thought it peculiar that they were accompanied by 
a specially large contingent of the younger fry, or 
noticed that each was trying to hide a little box or 
paper bag. It was a special trip of the big boat and 
few had known about it, so there were not many to 
get on when the gang-plank was thrown out. 


CAMP COUCHICHING AS CUPID 235 


At that moment a dozen boxes and bags were 
opened and out came a deluge of rice. Not a half- 
hearted little shower, but quarts of it in a white 
avalanche. Mr. McWhirter and Miss Dwight ran 
through it, over the gang-plank, before they realized 
that they were the happy recipients of these 
strenuous attentions. 

Immediately the boat was on its way again, and 
the victims glanced confusedly back to where, among 
the group of amused hotel guests, a dozen gleeful 
youngsters were waving a fond farewell. 

Miss Dwight was genuinely angry. 

‘‘What a perfectly stupid joke!” she exclaimed 
wrathfully. And for once in his life the Rev. Angus 
McWhirter was at a loss to put his thoughts into 
words. 

Bewildered by the suddenness of the novel situa- 
tion, Miss Dwight looked eagerly over the water, as 
though escape by that means was a matter to be con- 
sidered, while Mr. McWhirter tried to still a foolish 
little song of joy that had suddenly sprung up in his 
heart. 

“ It was a silly joke,” he remarked at last. “ But 
then they are only children after all.” 

“ They are children who need training, and I will 
see that they get it after this,” sputtered Miss 
Dwight, as together they moved towards the stairs 
leading to the deck, little guessing what was awaiting 
them there. 

Camp Couchiching was on board a hundred strong. 
This was the biggest day of their Muskoka trip, and 


236 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


the boys were riding the topmost wave of fun and 
jollity. No incident was too slight to be made an 
excuse for a demonstration. At every stopping 
place waiting crowds were informed by means of 
songs and club yells, just who they were listening to, 
and return information was asked for. Special 
songs, with names interpolated, called the attention 
of the passengers and crew to any impressionable 
leader or older boy who showed a disposition to culti- 
vate the acquaintance of the fair sex. 

The incident of the rice throwing did not escape 
them, and was hailed with cries and howls of de- 
light. 

‘‘ A wedding party ! ‘‘A bride and groom ! ” 

“ Gee, I’ll be sorry for them before we’re through 
with them ! ” were some of the comments heard as the 
boat steamed on its way again. 

Skin Lightwood leaned over the taffrail and 
shouted to the group on the wharf; 

“ Tell us his name, quick ! ” 

McWhirter,” came the prompt reply over the 
rapidly widening distance. 

Skin made a reassuring gesture with his long 
arm. 

‘‘Don’t you worry; we’ll McWhirter him,” he 
shouted, then turned to muster his forces. 

Nowhere were boys to be found, who could think up 
and organize a plan of campaign as quickly and as 
thoroughly, as those trained at Camp Couchiching. 
By the time the unfortunate pair reached the top 
step leading to the deck, they faced a long aisle. 


CAMP COUCHICHING AS CUPID 237 


flanked on either side by wild and woolly looking in- 
dividuals, clothed in khaki and gray flannel. 

If they had been in an imaginative frame of mind 
they might have thought of the brave days of old, 
when swaggering buccaneers forced luckless strang- 
ers to walk the plank. They merely stood still 
in dumb astonishment. These bold pirates wore 
frying pans, dangling to their belts instead of cut- 
lasses, and at the appearance of the victims they 
burst into song, the burden of the chorus being : 

‘‘ High over Jericho 

McWhirter’s got a wife.” 

The two never could have told how they walked 
down that aisle. They only knew that at the end of it 
there were three deafening cheers for McWhirter, fol- 
lowed by three doubly enthusiastic ones for “ Mrs. 
McWhirter.” The plot was certainly thickening, 
and as they looked around the crowded boat where 
they were the cynosure for all eyes, they realized that 
the only thing to do was to face it and make the 
best of it. They offered no explanation and made no 
protest, but smiled their recognition of the attention 
they were receiving. 

Gee, they’re good sports all right,” cried Skin, 
and added to the chorus as a tribute to the charms 
of the lady : 

High over Jericho 

McWhirter’s wife’s a peach.” 


238 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


They were taken at once into the good graces of 
the party, but not for an instant all day were they 
allowed to forget that they were supposed to be newly 
married. Attentions of every description were 
showered upon them, and they were not left to them- 
selves a moment. 

McWhirter’s name was upon every lip. He was 
declared in song to be A J oily Good Fellow,” and 
“ Mrs. McWhirter ” was pronounced ‘‘ all right.” If 
they moved to another part of the boat seventy-five 
or eighty boys trailed after them, and it was a great 
triumph of personal charm that the boys forgot 
that they were there as tormentors. 

At Port Cockburn the camp party went ashore to 
eat dinner on the grassy slope of a hill, and the two 
victims escaped to the dining saloon, glad of even a 
short respite. 

Even there, they were conscious of the curious 
glances of the waiters and of the other diners. 

This was the fourth day out for the campers, and 
they looked rather the worse for wear as they sat on 
the hillside, contentedly munching salmon sandwiches 
and drinking tea from bowls, to which the dust of 
travel still clung ; while guests from the near-by hotels 
came down to gaze and pity. 

One old gentleman made them the subject of a 
sociological discourse, to the accompaniment of 
‘‘ Ohs ! ” and Ahs ! ” and “ How perfectly interest- 
ing ! ” from half a dozen ladies with work-bags and 
lorgnettes. He illustrated his points by indicat- 
ing particular individuals with his walking stick. 


CAMP COUCHICHING AS CUPID 239 


Sandy was delighted to find himself singled out as 
an example of the benefits of fresh air on the children 
of the poor. And someone suggested that Jerry 
Walker might find work with a farmer in the neigh- 
borhood at twenty dollars a month. Not even 
Jerry’s best friends could deny that he looked as 
though he needed it. 

The ladies with the lorgnettes almost fainted when 
two young ragamuffins ran up the hill to meet one 
of the most fashionable of the hotel guests, hailing 
her as “ mother.” 

When they returned to the boat, the search for 
excitement began with renewed vigor. Mr. McWhir- 
ter and Miss Dwight were lulled to a false security 
by the unusual serenity of the first half hour, and 
they began to hope that they had passed out of the 
public gaze. They were seated well back in the bow 
of the boat, and were beginning to take some interest 
in the magnificent scenery for which Lake Joseph is 
justly famous. Most of the boys were in another 
part of the boat, and things were really serene at 
last. Their relief was short-lived, for they soon be- 
came conscious of a renewed stir among the boys. 

It could not be — and yet Yes, they were once 

more forming an aisle, or more properly speaking, 
a hollow square in front of them. Other passengers 
were crowding around with looks of amused interest, 
and with an inward shudder though outwardly smil- 
ing, Margaret Dwight wondered what was coming 
next. 

There was little time for speculation. First there 


gio FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


was the slightest perceptible humming of the wed- 
ding march from Lohengrin. It gradually grew in 
strength and volume until a “ Wedding party ” swept 
ostentatiously into view and took their places 
solemnly in the midst of the square. 

The boys considered this the crowning achieve- 
ment of the day. The “ bride’s ” costume was a 
marvel. Little red-haired Jim Grant, the smallest 
boy in camp, had been decked out with a black cape 
for a skirt, a green mosquito netting waist, and a 
filmy white umbrella shawl for a veil. This latter 
reached to his feet and in his hand he carried a 
bouquet of white flowers. 

Skin Lightwood was the tall bridegroom, and Ben 
Myer the officiating clergyman. The bridegroom 
looked sad, and the bride proud and happy. The 
ceremony was a pattern of brevity and the advice of 
the clergyman as to future conduct met with the 
approval of the audience. 

When it was over the contracting parties promptly 
disappeared from the limelight, and “ Mr. and Mrs. 
McWhirter ” became the center of a hilarious circle 
of well-wishers. Every boy in the party fell into 
line, and as they passed the long-suffering couple, 
they shook hands, and offered congratulations. 
This was a function which occupied considerable time, 
for most of the boys fell in behind a second and even 
a third time, prolonging the agony. 

An impromptu concert followed, during which Mr. 
IMcWhirter was called upon for a speech. It was a 
situation fraught with many dangers for him, but 


CAMP COUCHICHING AS CUPID 


he merely arose, tall and grave and commanding, and 
said solemnly : 

Gentlemen, I think you are all jealous,” and sat 
down amid cheers of approval. 

Before they knew it the Sagamo was steaming 
up to the wharf at the Royal Muskoka Hotel. Here 
Mr. McWhirter and Miss Dwight were to wait for a 
smaller steamer to take them to their destination, 
as the Sagamo made fewer stops on the return 
journey. The boys were truly sorry to see them 
go, for they had won their liking during a most 
unique and trying experience; and only the Chief 
had known all along the trick that had been played 
upon them. 

The parting was as noisy and as vociferous as the 
reception had been; farewells and good-wishes being 
sung and shouted as long as the boat was within 
hearing. The last sound that came to them over 
the water was the hoarse voice of Skin Lightwood, 
as he leaned far over the taffrail waving his long 
arms and shouting, Good-by, Mr. McWhirter ! 
Good-by, Mrs, McWhirter.” 

Few persons left the boat at the Royal Muskoka, 
and only a few were down to meet it, and these quickly 
disappeared up the hill to the big hotel, around 
which centered all the human life of the Island. 

A short distance away, two men were working on 
an upturned launch which had come to grief; and 
they cast only a casual glance at the steamer, for 
they were in a hurry to be on their way. 

A rustic seat overlooked the water, and Mr. Me- 


FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


Whirter and Miss Dwight seated themselves there to 
await their boat, feeling strangely at a loss for 
words. Margaret felt as though it would be a re- 
lief to be able to laugh over the adventure and she was 
impatient that something made it impossible for her 
to treat the matter with levity. With her hands 
clasped in her lap, she looked demurely out over the 
water, while the Reverend Angus regarded her, his 
whole being in a tumult. A robin in the tree over- 
head was hopping from branch to branch, and calling 
to its mate. There never was another robin like it ; 
for Mr. McWhirter could have sworn that it 
called : « Mrs. McWhirter ! ” “ Mrs. McWhirter ! ” 
Stranger than all, the tattooing of the hammer on 
the launch sang the same refrain; Mrs. McWhir- 
ter!” “ Mrs. McWhirter!” 

He was thrilled with the sweet intimacy of it, and 
her nearness intoxicated him. With her face turned 
from him, she was intently watching the glittering 
white track left by the steamer, but the exquisite 
loveliness of her was as wine to his blood — the soft 
brown hair, which the sun was turning to burnished 
gold, the delicately rounded cheek and throat, the 
crisp white dress, and the dainty boot. There never 
was another like her. How graciously and sweetly 
she had borne herself through the unique experiences 
of the day. She was wonderful! 

The launch was fixed, and the men started off, 
calling something unintelligible, but evidently 
friendly, as they went. 

Before he knew it, his hand had closed over her 


CAMP COUCHICHING AS CUPID 243 


two, and he was murmuring, “ Dearest, shall we make 
it all come true? ” 

For a moment longer she continued to watch the 
white track in the water, and then she turned to him, 
her face radiant with the light of love. 

Then even the robin flew away. 

After a little the Reverend Angus threw back his 
head and laughed joyously. I am just wondering,” 
he said, ‘‘ if our next wedding trip will not lack some- 
thing of spice and flavor without our friends of Camp 
Couchiching.” 


CHAPTER XX 


THE STORM 

W HEN the Sagamo reached the wharf and the 
boys had had supper there were still two hours 
of daylight, in which to reach Lake Koshee, or some 
other convenient camping spot, for the night. 

Not a moment was lost in setting out and the boys 
did not dally along the way, for it was the return 
journey, and most of the zest of the trip was over. 
The Chief and his little family with a few others 
returned to camp by train and the uppermost 
thought in every mind was to cover the ground as 
quickly as possible. 

This became imperative some time later, when 
black clouds overcast the sky, and low rumblings of 
thunder were heard in the distance. The leaders 
looked anxiously about for shelter, but this was no 
easy matter owing to the size of the party. They 
were traversing a lonely road, and night was falling 
quickly. There was not a human habitation in 
sight, only hills and woods and stump-dotted fields 
jumping out of the darkness at every vivid flash of 
lightning. 

Griswold remembered that at the foot of the next 
long curving hill were two houses and a barn. 
Shouting words of encouragement to the party, he 
^44 


THE STORM 


245 


hurried ahead with Sandy to make what arrange- 
ments he could. 

Bruce Armstrong’s task was the hardest of all, 
for the wagon was heavy, and the wheels sank deep 
into the sand as the horses toiled bravely up and 
down the long hills. As the darkness increased and 
the lightning flashes became more vivid, the wagon be- 
came the popular center to the timid ones of the 
party. On either side of the road in some places the 
dark forest closed in, impenetrable, mysterious and 
filled with nameless terrors, but not even the most 
chicken-hearted could feel afraid while near Bruce 
Armstrong. There was something so altogether 
human and capable in the sound of his voice as he ex- 
postulated with his horses by name, and encouraged 
them, or humored their individual peculiarities as he 
walked along beside them. Occasionally he diversi- 
fied matters by cheerfully whistling a bar or two of 
“ I’m afraid to go home in the dark.” 

At the foot of the hill Griswold and Sandy stopped 
at the first house to ask for the privilege of sleeping 
in the barn. The flashes of lightning which were 
momentarily becoming more vivid showed it to be but 
a small affair, and things did not look very promising. 

The stout, round-faced woman who came to the 
door in answer to their knock, looked astonished at 
their request. 

Ninety boys and a team of horses,” she repeated 
dazedly. ‘‘ Mercy me ! Who ever heard of such a 
thing! There ain’t room in the barn for no such 
gang as that.” 


246 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


Griswold stood in the doorway, hat in hand, the 
light streaming on his boyish face, his manner full 
of deference and respect. 

“ Perhaps we might find a shed here somewhere, 
that would help out,” he suggested politely. 

“ I don’t know of any — , but let me think a min- 
ute ” 

A jagged tine of lightning ripped and tore through 
the southern sky, and was followed by a deafening 
peal of thunder. 

The woman shrank back. ‘‘ Dear me, that’s aw- 
ful,” she cried, I wouldn’t keep a dog outside in that 
storm. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. The house across 
the field is mine; I’m staying here with my sick 
daughter just now, and if you’ll promise that every- 
thing will be left all right. I’ll let you take half of 
them there ; the rest can stay in the hay mow.” 

Griswold thanked her warmly, and shouldered the 
responsibility of seeing that the house and its be- 
longings were respected. 

Just as the rain began to come down in sheets and 
torrents, the last straggler was gathered in. It was 
a terrific storm: the rain came in floods, and the 
thunder cracked with sharp detonations, and roll- 
ing vibrations, after each blinding flash of lightning 
had zigzagged its way to the earth. The contingent 
in the barn snuggled down into the new hay and tried 
to shut their ears to the riot of the elements, while 
in the cottage, forty boys stretched themselves side 
by side on the bare floor like patrons of a New York 
Mulberry street lodging house, at five cents a spot. 


THE STORM 


247 


Neither the storm nor the hardness of their bed 
kept them awake very long for it had been a most 
strenuous day and they were all tired. Very soon, 
everybody was sleeping soundly, while the storm 
spent itself and gradually passed away to the west- 
ward. 

Sandy was a light sleeper, but even he did not 
awaken until the sun was streaming in through the 
half-closed shutters. Then he sat up with a start, 
suddenly wide awake. A sharp sound of some kind 
had awakened him. All around him the boys were 
fast asleep on the floor; only Skin Lightwood was 
missing. He listened, for a repetition of the sound, 
and it came in a moment — the report of a gun, not 
far from the house. 

Quietly picking his way among the sleepers, he 
stepped to the door and went out. It was a brillant, 
shimmering world that he looked upon. All the 
mist and dust of yesterday had been cleared away 
by the storm, and he blinked for a moment with the 
sudden brightness of it after the gloom of the 
darkened room. 

The house stood in the middle of a fleld with 
neither garden or outbuilding to relieve its forlorn 
ugliness, a stump-fence dividing the field from the 
woods, a hundred yards to the rear. The cause 
of the noise was soon apparent, for Skin Lightwood, 
with a gun under his arm, was busy setting a tin can 
on top of a projection on the fence. 

Sandy ran over to him. “ Where did you get that 
gun ? ” he demanded. 


248 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


Skin turned a delighted countenance. “ Say, kid,” 
he exclaimed j oyfully, “ I haven’t had such fun since 
I had the measles, you just watch me.” 

I won’t do it, where did you get it, that’s what 
I want to know.? ” 

“ Oh, keep your shirt on, I got it in the kitchen 
and a whole box of cartridges on the shelf beside it.” 

“ But that wasn’t yours, you lobster.” 

“ Say, listen to me, if you’d a’ been here a minute 
ago, you’d ’a split your sides. There was a big 
rooster on that fence, just flapping his wings, getting 
ready to crow, when I says to myself, “ See here, 
Skin, if that guy William Tell could knock an apple 
of a fellow’s cocoanut, it’s up to you to shoot the 
tail off that old rooster ! ” 

“ Did you do it? ” eagerly demanded Sandy, for- 
getting his scruples for the moment. 

“Did I? Well, now you’re talking. Look at this 
feather. It came off as clean as a whistle. “ Oh, I 
didn’t win three medals for nothing,” replied Skin, 
picking up the feather and sticking it into his hat 
with picturesque effect. 

“ Don’t you know that Mr. Griswold promised we 
shouldn’t touch anything around here ? ” 

“ Nope, I didn’t hear anything.” 

“ Well, you hear me, and you’ve just got to stop 
it.” 

“ Sure, I hear you, but I’m not going to stop. 
There’s a little lake through the woods there, and 
I’m going duck shooting ; want to come ? ” 

“No, I don’t. Aw, say. Skin, he decent, can’t 


THE STORM 


249 


you? You haven’t any right with that gun or those 
cartridges, and you know it. You’ll get Mr. Gris- 
wold into trouble: a promise is a promise.” 

“ That’s all right, kid, don’t you worry. I didn’t 
make any promise, and I’m not breaking any. Good- 
by — if you’re not coming. I’ll get a duck for 
breakfast.” 

As Sandy stood looking helplessly after Skin’s re- 
treating form, little Baggs hurried out to look for 
his missing chum, and catching sight of him, ran 
after him, heedless of Sandy’s call to come back. 
The others were awake now, and preparations for a 
hasty breakfast were soon under way. 

Griswold was angry when he heard of Skin’s 
escapade. “ The young scamp, he’ll take the money 
for those cartridges over to Mrs. Clark, and 
apologize,” he said with emphasis. “ Lucky if he 
doesn’t do some damage before he’s through.” 

From time to time the sound of rifle shots down 
by the lake, gave evidence that Skin was alive at least. 
When the cartridges w^ere all spent he returned, his 
face radiating satisfaction. It had been great fun, 
he declared, and worth the price even if he had to pay 
for it. Not even the bad five minutes he had with 
Griswold could take away from him the joy he had 
had, down by the lake. In common with most of the 
party his money was spent long ere this, but he man- 
aged to borrow sufficient to pay for the cartridges, 
and the incident was closed for the time. 

It was a tired and dusty party that straggled into 
Washago, early that afternoon. The day had 


250 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


turned out intensely hot, and Sandy thought he had 
never been quite so thirsty in all his life. 

As he trudged along with Barney, he vainly tried 
to shut his ears to the scraps of conversation float- 
ing to him from the groups both behind and before. 

“ Lemonade, Ice cream. Water ice.” They were 
words to conjure by. But alas! when a fellow is 
penniless, how tormenting they may become. 

He was not alone in his proverty-stricken condi- 
tion, however, for the boys who had spent their 
money first during the trip, had borrowed from the 
more provident, and now so far from being the 
opulent youths who had fattened the coffers of 
Washago, a few days before, they were reduced to 
the ignominy of accepting the one free thing the town 
afforded — water. 

The act of passing the door of the little shop, 
where cooling drinks were sold, was a test of char- 
acter. Some passed by with head erect and haughty 
mien; others slunk by with an air of personal in- 
jury, while a few dallied with temptation by paus- 
ing to count the bottles of ‘^pop” on the grocery 
shelves. 

Sandy was doing his best to ignore it all, when 
Barney electrified him by extricating a dime from 
his trousers pocket. He had saved it from his little 
store for such a moment as this, and it made them the 
nabobs of the party for the time being. After that 
Sandy regarded his chosen companion with a new 
respect. Such thrift was beyond his comprehension. 

Down at the wharf they found the little fleet wait- 


THE STORM 


251 


ing, and soon were being wafted homeward over the 
blue waters of Lake Couchiching. The much an- 
ticipated Muskoka trip, a thing to look back upon 
and talk about for months to come. 

Before Sandy and Barney there was a solid week 
of work and fun, in camp, and then the most wonder- 
ful thing of all was to happen. They were going on 
a canoe trip with Hugh Griswold and Dad Farring- 
ton. 

All their experiences in camp had been leading up 
to this; for only the physically fit and the fully 
trained, were permitted to go off into the wilds, even 
with the best of leaders. Swimming, life-saving, 
canoeing, first-aid, and half a dozen others were 
among the tests to be passed for this great privilege. 

Sandy and Barney were not afraid. In the mat- 
ter of progress they had far outstripped most of 
the others, and were quite unlike the pair who had 
looked about them so uncertainly that first morning 
of camp. They had gone in whole-heartedly to win, 
and so far had succeeded. 

The next day after dinner, when the whole camp 
was assembled in the pavilion, the Chief stood with a 
letter in his hand, and with a sternness which few 
had ever seen in him before, announced that the com- 
munication was from a Mrs. Clark, who had given the 
boys shelter the night of the storm. It was ad- 
dressed to the camp, and read as follows; 

Dear Sir: 

This is a few lines to lett you know that when the 


252 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


boys that slep in mi hous went away i went in an 
look around, i lett you know that somebody had 
took my purse, i allways kep it in the crackt sugar 
bowl on the shelf beside the gun. It had five dollars 
in. Somebody also ett some of mi onions, i lett you 
know that i don’t want the onions back, but i nede 
the money rite away the young gentleman was as 
fine a gentleman as i ever seen, but there was others 
and i doant want to menshun no names but they 
was too boald. 

Yours respectfully, 

Mrs. Clark. 

The Chief paused and laid the letter on the table. 
Consternation was written upon every countenance, 
and involuntarily the boys glanced in the direction 
of Skin Lightwood, who was staring at the Chief, 
with eyes out of which for once, every spark of non- 
sense had fled. The odor of onions on his breath 
and Baggs’, had been the standing joke of yesterday, 
and the incident of the gun was notorious. He had 
owned up to having rifled a small onion bed in the 
back field, but no one had thought much about it: 
Now things looked decidedly ugly. 

It is unnecessary to say that this is a grave 
charge, and one which closely concerns the honor of 
Camp Couchiching,” said the Chief incisively. “ It 
is a matter for the board of control to probe to the 
bottom. You all know the penalty: it is the res- 
toration of the stolen money, and instant expulsion 
from camp. The board will meet immediately after 


THE STORM 


253 


dinner, and every boy who was in the house that 
night, or who knows anything concerning the matter, 
will be required to attend.” 

The boys withdrew from the table in a constrained 
manner. No such blot as this had ever come upon 
the camp, and they could think of nothing else for the 
time being. 

At the last bi-weekly election, Hugh Griswold had 
been elected President of the board of control, and 
much to his sorrow, it was his duty to try the case. 
The upstairs room in the pavilion where the board 
usually met was too small for an affair of this magni- 
tude, and a retired spot by the lake was chosen. It 
was also decided to empanel a jury, and conduct the 
trial along strictly legal lines. As President of the 
board, Griswold naturally took the position of 
Judge; Ben Myer was appointed prosecuting at- 
torney, and Jack Whitby, lawyer for the defense. 
It needed no preliminary examination to place Skin 
Lightwood in the dock as the accused. Public opin- 
ion swept him there perforce. It was no mock trial 
this, and everyone felt the seriousness of it. One of 
their own companions was on trial for his reputation 
and his’ honor, and the whole camp crowded around 
to hear how it would come out. 

The twelve jurors were chosen, and then the trial 
began amid sharp shirmishes, between the opposing 
counsel, who took themselves with tremendous 
seriousness. 

Witness after witness was called to testify to what 
they knew regarding the prisoner’s doings on the oc- 


254 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


casion in question. It was proved to the satisfaction 
of the court that no one had been near the shelf upon 
which the money was hidden, except the prisoner. 
The fact that he had already broken rules and com- 
mitted depredations went against him. 

Skin’s face became more deadly serious and his 
mouth drooped in a hopeless way; while Baggs 
sat as near to him as he could, looking the picture of 
misery. 

As the trial neared the end, and everyone realized 
the gravity of the situation, a hush fell upon them. 
Griswold’s face was full of pain as he gave the charge 
to the jury. The attitude of judge to the accused 
was one entirely new to him, and it hurt him to have 
to pronounce sentence of expulsion and probable 
ostracism upon this boy, whose vagaries had been the 
delight and the despair of camp. 

The few minutes that the jury was out was a time 
of breathless suspense. 

No one felt like talking, as they sat or stood 
around in a semicircle and waited. Not a sound could 
be heard, but the chug-chug of a launch on the lake 
and the distant shunting of a freight train. Skin 
turned his face from his companions and looked 
steadily over the lake; then the jury came back. 

The verdict was a foregone conclusion — ^ 
“ Guilty.” 

As the foreman pronounced the word, Baggs was 
on his feet. By common consent his testimony had 
not been called for. “ Hits a lie,” he cried, “ Skin 
’e haint guilty.” 


THE STORM 


255 


Put him out ! ” cried someone in the crowd, but 
Baggs stood firm, his face white and his eyes flash- 
ing. He was stretched to his full absurd little height 
and for once seemed afraid of no one. 

With a gesture Griswold silenced the murmurings 
of the crowd, and then said quietly, “ Baggs, this will 
hardly do, you know ; if you know anything to prove 
that the prisoner is not guilty, we will listen, if not, 
you must sit down.” 

‘‘ They says Skin’s a thief and ’e haint.” 

What do you know.^^ Tell us.” 

‘‘ I know — , I know — ” 

Come now, who took the purse if the prisoner did 
not.? ” 

Baggs’s half appealing glance swept the witnesses, 
the jury, and resting a moment on the prisoner came 
back to the judge. 

I took it,” he said defiantly. 

The astonishment was profound, but no one moved 
or spoke. 

Skin regarded his admirer with open-mouthed 
amazement, and Griswold looked perplexed. 

“ Do you know what you are saying? ” he asked, 

‘‘Yes I know. I took that purse and Skin ’e 
didn’t do nothInk.” 

“Where is the purse and the money? It must 
be sent back you know.” 

Baggs’s face grew more deadly white, and hel 
looked helplessly around. “ I ’aven’t got it,” he fal- 
tered. 

“ What did you do with it? ” 


^56 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


‘‘ I — , I got frightened — and I dropped it into the 
lake.” 

Griswold stood regarding him doubtfully, trying 
to read the meaning of this new development, when 
Windy de Forrest arose to the occasion. 

“ Your honor,” he said briskly, ‘‘ I move that we 
take up a collection and send the money to Mrs. 
Clark, and that we let the matter drop.” 

A murmur of approval greeted this proposal, and 
the motion was carried unanimously. The collection 
was taken on the spot and a great relief was felt, 
that the matter could be disposed of in this way. 
When it was over the boys dispersed. Baggs has- 
tened away, not even waiting for Skin, who looked 
dazedly after him. The afternoon’s programme was 
taken up, but no one took much interest in it. A 
shadow had fallen over the camp. Supper was a 
spiritless meal, and even baseball was not quite as 
absorbing or as exciting as usual. 

When the first strain was over the boys began to 
feel more and more indignant with Baggs. He had 
always been an outsider, and though treated toler- 
antly, had been regarded as more or less of a servant, 
and a curiosity. It was too bad that through him 
a blot should come on the fair name of the camp. 

He stayed in the kitchen more than was his wont, 
and did not follow Skin as usual. Griswold took 
him under his wing in a quiet way, letting him into 
games and things from which he otherwise would have 
been excluded, and cultivating his friendship in many 
ways. 



A MORNING SAIL 



• 7 




t 


I 



THE STORM 


257 


This went on for two or three days, and then one 
evening, after supper, the Chief said: “I have an 
announcement to make in which you will all be deeply 
interested. 

I have had another communication from Mrs. 
Clark. This time it came by telephone; she was so 
anxious for me to get it that she walked four miles 
to the telephone.” 

The boys listened in breathless silence, wonder- 
ing what new development was coming. 

“ The purse has been found,” continued the Chief. 
‘‘ She had not put it into the cracked sugar-bowl 
after all, and she wishes to apologize to the camp for 
any unpleasantness the incident may have caused. 

“ You will understand that this fully absolves any- 
one in camp from any connection with this matter.” 

The announcement swept the camp clean off its 
feet, and when the Chief paused, an excited murmur 
arose. Every eye was turned to Baggs, who looked 
as though he was going to faint. 

Then Jack Whitby sprang to the table and cried: 

Three cheers for Baggs, the dead game sport ! ” 

The demonstration that followed outdid anything 
that had been heard in that pavilion for many a long 
day. They were supposed not to approve of a lie, 
but even with that sin on his shoulders, little Baggs 
had risen to a height of loyal friendship of which 
they had never even dreamed. 

Ben Myer slapped him approvingly on the back. 
^‘You’re doing credit to your teachers at last, my 
boy,” he cried. 


^58 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


“ By being a good liar,” flouted Windy de Forest 
from across the room. 

“ By being the best sport in camp,” corrected 
Myer. 

That’s all right,” remarked the Chief dryly, 
but don’t anybody else try the game. It may not 
work so well the next time.” 

After that the days passed in quick succession, 
Hugh Griswold went to Toronto for a day or two 
before going on the canoe trip, and some of the boys 
in his tent were on a “ hike ” to Bass Lake. One 
night Sandy and Barney found themselves the only 
representatives of the tent in camp. 

They decided that they would celebrate the occa- 
sion by capturing the honor pennant the next day. 
This was a distinction, when every member of a 
tent was present and working hard, but for two alone 
it was considered next to an impossibility, for every- 
one’s marks counted. However they set to work 
with a will, and from early morning until the last 
signal for lights out ” at night they lived with one 
end in view — the honor of their tent. Table setting, 
tent inspection, promptness, deportment, efficiency 
in the games, all had their bearing on the final re- 
sults, and when it was announced the next morning 
that they had won, it was considered a record feat 
for Camp Couchlchlng. 

When Griswold and the others returned that 
day and found the honor flag flying over their tent, 
there was much rejoicing and many congratulations. 

Then came the evening, when just as night was 


THE STORM 


259 


settling down, they dipped their paddles into the 
lake and turning their faces northward, set off on 
the much-talked-of canoe-trip. Dad Farrington had 
been detained in Orillia, while purchasing supplies, 
and they were several hours later than they had an- 
ticipated, but no one was sorry. To Sandy, 
especially there was a charm and a novelty about 
starting off under the stars in the silence of the 
night. Everybody in his tent was there, besides sev- 
eral others, but he did not talk much. 

In fact there was little to be heard, but the dip, 
dip of the paddles for some time after the four canoes 
shot out into the open lake. 

Then the last touch was added when from the 
midst of a dim glow in the northern sky there shot 
upwards, a single shaft of light; then another and 
another, changing and spreading, and ebbing back 
again. 

They were Canadian boys, and not unused to the 
elusive spectacle of the northern lights, but never 
had they seemed more beautiful than to-night. By 
their light they paddled on up the lake to a suitable 
camping spot, which Dad knew, and were soon sound 
asleep, wrapped in their blankets and dreaming of 
the long trail. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE HAUNTED RAPIDS. 



FEW nights later they were seated around a 


blazing campfire, animatedly discussing the 
events of the day. Their canoes were already pointed 
homewards along the southern branch of the 
Muskoka River, the most strenuous and diflScult 
part of the trip. All day long they had run rapids 
or toiled over rough portages in the burning heat. 
Now the difficulties were all forgotten in the joy of 
watching the burning logs and comparing notes as 
to the size and weight of the packs they had carried 
over the portages, and listening to accounts of the 
marvelous size of the fish that got away. 

They had found the track of the red-deer, and 
heard by night the lone cry of the loon. They had 
pushed their way through bear-trails, and once on 
a silent lake they had met Mr. Bruin himself. He 
was swimming across the lake at its widest part, and 
paid no heed to their friendly greetings, other than 
by a sniff or two of apparent contempt. Once dur- 
ing the night while they were camping on that same 
lake, Sandy averred that he heard the mournful 
howl of a wolf. No one disputed his word but 
Barney, and he did not count as he was too sound 
asleep to hear it anyway. 


260 


THE HAUNTED RAPIDS 


261 


Their camp was well chosen in a cleared spot at the 
end of a long portage, with the sound of the rapids 
in their ears and the pine woods all around them. 

As they were talking they heard a crackling of the 
twigs underfoot, and immediately two men emerged 
from the gloom of the woods, into the circle of light 
cast by the fire. 

Good evenin’,” said the older of the two, a 
grizzled one-eyed woodsman of sixty, looking around 
upon the circle. “ Jim here seen yez on the other 
side of the last rapids, and we figgered that yez would 
be campin’ here.” 

“ Oh, good evening, come and sit down,” cried half 
a dozen voices at once, with the easy comradeship of 
the wilderness places, as the boys hospitably made 
a place in the circle for the new comers. 

Don’t care if I do ; we’re always glad to see 
strangers around these parts; come on, Jim.” 

Jim nodded at the circle with a sheepish grin, as 
he sat down. He was a raw boned youth, who seemed 
at a loss to know what to do with his hands and feet. 

‘‘You’re as welcome as the flowers in May!” 
quoted Griswold poetically. 

“Yes, we thought we’d set with yez fer a spell. It 
gits pretty lonesome here sometimes. Mebbee yez 
have heard of Andy Johnson ” 

No one had, and the speaker looked disappointed. 

“ Well, if yez have, that’s me. I ain’t a blowin’ but 
yez can ask them that knows, and they’ll tell yez I’m 

the best guide and the best ” The speaker 

broke off suddenly, with a look of consternation in 


S62 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


his face. He had been searching diligently through 
his pockets while he talked. 

“ There, if that don’t beat all, I’m clean out o’ 
tobaccy,” he exclaimed, while his one eye rested hope- 
fully on Dad. 

Now that is a pity,” said Dad regretfully, 
“ because there isn’t a bit of tobacco in the 
crowd.” 

Andy’s look was one of pained incredulity, and 
again his eye swept the circle inquiringly. 

“ Gosh ! if it ain’t a Sunday School picnic,” he 
ejaculated in awed tones. 

Then everybody laughed and explained matters 
to their own satisfaction, if not to his. Shaking his 
head dolefully, he renewed his search and this time 
found the missing treasure. 

“ Mebbee you younguns is right,” he remarked, as 
he proceeded to fill his pipe. “ Come to think of it, 
I’m sure yez are, but it ain’t my way, and what’s 
more, I’m sure it never will be. Where do yez all 
come from, anyway ” 

“ From Toronto,” replied half a dozen voices, 

‘‘ From Toronto ! Ye don’t say. I was there 
once, ten year ago cornin’ October. Gosh, it’s an 
awful place to spend money in. Say, d’ye know, I 
hadn’t been there a week when slap-bang, went three 
dollars. Ye don’t ketch me there agin as long as I 
live.” 

“ It’s worse than ever,” remarked Dad gravely. 
“ You could almost get rid of five dollars in a week 
now.” 


THE HAUNTED RAPIDS 


263 


“ I’ll bet ye ; my, but they’re the grabbers ! They 
won’t get any o’ mine though, I’ll promise ye.” 

I guess they got Andy roped in to playing on 
the races, and speckylatin’ in minin’ stocks,” drawled 
Jim with a quiet smile. 

‘‘ You know this region pretty well of course,” 
said Griswold. 

“ I’d ought to, fer I been here since ever I can 
mind,” replied Andy. 

‘‘ Is the river as rough as this all the way down ? ” 

“ Pretty much. There’s two or three rapids 
ye’ve got to look out fer. This un’s the worst 
though. There’s several been drownded in it. Ye 
see it don’t look so treacherous till ye’re right into 
it, and then mebbe it’s too late.” 

Andy leaned forward and gazed thoughtfully into 
the fire while he smoked, and in the pause, the crackle 
of the burning logs, the sighing of the wind through 
the pine trees and the mellow roar of the rapids 
mingled like some wonderful symphony of God’s 
great silent places. 

Sandy broke the silence. ‘‘You say people have 
been drowned here ? ” he remarked inquiringly. 

Andy removed his pipe and spat in the direction 
of the fire. Then laying it down carefully, he 
nodded towards the river. “ There’s somethin’ queer 
about these here rapids,” he said mysteriously. 
“ They used to be ha’nted. Some says they is yet.” 

“ Haunted rapids ! ” cried Griswold delightedly. 
“ That sounds interesting ! Tell us about it,” 

“ Well, I never seen anything myself ” began And}^ 


264 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


cautiously, “but I’ve hearn the old folks tell about 
it many’s a time. 

“ It was in the days when the Injuns was here- 
abouts, not long after the white settlers first come 
in. The Injuns was a shiftless drinkin’ lot, both men 
and women of ’em. They’d always drink if they got 
it, and they sure did act crazy when they had a little 
in ’em. 

“ One day two old squaws was up to the settlement 
and they got just enough to make ’em feel excited. 
They was cornin’ home, down the river, when a tur- 
rible storm come up. The two old ladies didn’t no- 
tice it ’cause by this time they’d got tear in’ mad at 
one another. 

“ They was screamin’ and swearin’ and ready to 
throw each other in, when they come to these here 
rapids. Well, sir, instead o’ gittin’ out and carryin’ 
their canoe around like sensible people would, they 
started to run the rapids. All the time yellin’ and 
cussin’ like mad. Of course the canoe upsot. One 
got drownded and the other hung on to a rock till 
somebody pulled her off. 

“ Well, sir, the funny part of it was that after 
that, every time there was a storm, that old lady that 
was drownded, used to rise right up in the middle o’ 
them there rapids, and scream and swear somethin’ 
awful. The Injuns didn’t like it. She’d been noth- 
in’ but a nuisance as long as she lived, and they 
natchelly thought she ought a’ stayed dead, when she 
went and got herself drownded. 

“ Well, seein’ they was Catholics, when they wasn’t 


THE HAUNTED RAPIDS 


265 


heathen, they went to the priest to see if he couldn’t 
do somethin’ to lay the ghost. So the next time 
there was a storm, he come with some holy water and 
he sprinkled it on the water, just when that old 
squaw was doin’ her very worst. 

“ The Injuns was tickled to death that they’d got 
rid of her and they went back to their tents or what- 
ever they lived in, and they had a feast and a 
dance ” 

“ A ghost dance, I suppose,” suggested Griswold, 

“ Yes, I guess so. Well, by dad ; the very next 
storm, she was up and and at it again, as brisk as 
ever. My, but they was a sorry lot of Injuns. 
The thing had got on to their nerves and they didn’t 
know what to do. At last the old Chief said. She’d 
just got to be laid, that was all there was about it. 
He figured it out that the holy water didn’t touch the 
right spot. He studied it all over in his head, how it 
could be got over to the middle o’ them rapids, just 
at the right minute. 

“ At last he struck it, and the next storm, what 
d’ye s’pose they done.^ ” 

No one volunteered a guess. 

“ Well, they come to this very spot, and they had 
a shotgun and some shot. They soaked the shot 
in the holy water and when the old lady riz up, they 
slapped it into the gun and let her have it. That 
did the trick. She never riz up no more.” 

“ Gee, I wish she would,” sighed Barney enviously. 

Andy had resumed his pipe and was deeply en- 
grossed in making it go, with a coal he had picked 


^66 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


out of the fire between his fingers, and made no com- 
ment. 

“Well, all I’ve got to saj is, I’d just like to see 
her,” remarked Sandy. 

“ I’ve hearn tell that she’s been saw here since 
then,” volunteered Jim obligingly. 

“ It feels like a storm,” suggested Fat Wolcott in 
a hopeful tone. 

“ Speakin’ about Injuns,” said Andy, Ignoring 
these side remarks, and laying aside his pipe once 
more, “ they certainly was a measly lot about here ; 
ye just had to keep yer eye on ’em all the time. 
They didn’t get ahead o’ me though, no sirree, bub. 
There was one fellow was up to their heathen tricks. 
One day I was out huntin’ and cornin’ back, a young 
Injun got into my canoe with me. By accident I 
dropped my powder horn overboard, and the Injun 
offered to dive down after it. He went, and he 
stayed down so blamed long, that I got kind of un- 
easy. Says I, ‘ I’ll go down and see what the trouble 
is.’ So I dived down, and what do ye think? 

“ By dad, if that blamed redskin wasn’t standin’ at 
the bottom of the lake emptyin’ my powder into his 
own horn.” 

This story brought forth a round of applause, 
the boys declaring it was the best yet. 

“ I don’t believe no slch yarn,” declared Jim 
emphatically. “ Why, I’ve heard that story ever 
since I was a kid.” 

“Well, what if ye have? ye heard it about 
replied Andy unabashed. 


THE HAUNTED RAPIDS 


S67 


‘‘ Don’t you believe him ; he’s the biggest liar in 
Muskoka,” said Jim in an aside to Sandy, who was 
sitting near him. Everybody heard, and they all 
laughed heartily. 

The conversation became general after that ; Sandy 
explained all about Camp Couchiching to Jim, who 
was greatly interested. He asked many questions, 
and in turn told somethin^ of his own life on the 
rocky Muskoka farm, and of his ambition to get 
away and see the great world for himself. He acted 
as guide to hunters in the fall, and their stories and 
conversation had made him long to get away, he said. 
He asked Sandy if he had seen the hunter’s cabin, 
near their camping ground. Two men w'ere staying 
in it now, but he thought they had been drinking and 
had gone up the river to the village. 

Then, as was his custom since coming to Camp, 
Griswold read a chapter from Forbush’s, ‘‘ Boy’s life 
of Christ.” They were nearly through, and the por- 
tion for the evening was the story of the arch-traitor 
and the betrayal. 

Jim listened spellbound, as to something very 
new and very real. He had heard the story before, 
but it had never concerned him; now told in all the 
vivid simplicity that boys love, it took on new 
meaning. 

Twice he wiped the tears from his eyes, and when 
it was done, he said to Sandy, wish I had that 
story.” 

‘‘ Haven’t you a Bible? ” asked Sandy quickly. 

Jim shook his head. “No, I never had one,” he 


268 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


said slowly. “ Perhaps I can borrow one, I’d like 
to read that again.” 

*^Hold on a minute,” cried Sandy with a sudden 
impulse: going to his pack he opened it and came 
back with his own Bible. You take this, I’m going 
home soon anyway,” he said, and pressed it upon 
Jim. 

The visitors took their leave, and the boys went to 
sleep on their beds of balsam boughs, the sound of 
rushing, white toothed waters sounding in their ears. 

In the morning the sky was overcast and a chiU 
had crept into the air. 

Dark gray clouds in great masses moved across 
the sky and a strong wind whistled weirdly through 
the forest. 

The white water roared angrily as it tumbled 
down in great reef-breaks and eddied hungrily 
around impeding rock fragments. 

Things did not look very encouraging for a day’s 
struggle with rapids and rough portages. 

“ We might as well wait here for it to pass over, 
as to be caught on the trail,” decided Dad, as they 
discussed the matter while disposing of their break- 
fast of coffee, bread and bacon. 

“ Then I’m going to look for the hunter’s cabin 
that Jim told me about,” announced Sandy. 

“ Me too,” volunteered Barney and Fat Wolcott 
in a breath. 

“ All right, come on this minute.” 

“ Don’t forget that it’s your turn to wash the 
dishes,” enjoined Dad cruelly. 


THE HAUNTED RAPIDS 


269 


‘‘ Bother the dishes then, let’s make them wash 
themselves,” exclaimed Sandy as he preceded to 
gather them up. ‘‘We can stick them in the sand 
here in this sheltered spot, where the water will wash 
over them.” 

“ I’ve always heard that it took a lazy man to be 
an inventor, now I’m sure of it,” remarked Griswold, 
eyeing him critically. 

“ Well, you just watch now and see if these dishes 
won’t be all clean by the time we need them again,” 
beamed Sandy, well pleased with his bright dis- 
covery. 

A brook now almost dried up made its way through 
the woods to the river. On the other side of this, on 
a rocky prominence, stood the hunter’s cabin. From 
its door one could see far up the river, but close at 
hand things were hidden by the trees, and only the 
narrow gorge of the brook was visible. 

The boys found it a weird lonely spot; the thick 
underbrush which grew up close about it waving 
in the wind, and the odor of the woods floating in 
the air. 

The door was closed, but there was no padlock, 
and no sign or sound of life about. 

Cautiously and half fearfully Sandy pushed the 
door open, and wonderingly the trio peered in. Evi- 
dently it had recently been occupied. A tea-pot half 
empty, stood on the stove and a piece of bacon hung 
from a hook in the ceiling. 

The furniture consisted of a stove, a bench and a 
couple of bunks, running along the wall. 


g70 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


A gun stood in the corner, and articles of men’s 
clothing were hanging on the wall. 

“ Phew ! I wouldn’t want to live there,” ex- 
claimed Barney, as they closed the door and turned 
away. 

They’re the fellows that Jim told me about. He 
said they’d been drinking. They’ve only been here 
about a week and one of them has been sick,” said 
Sandy. 

I wonder who they are,” pondered Barney. 
‘‘ Anyway, we can come up here if it rains too hard. 
Come on, let’s tell the fellows.” 

Sandy did not move nor answer ; for his eyes were 
fixed on a moving object on the river above the rapids* 

A canoe ! ” he breathed, “ and it’s coming 
straight for the rapids ! ” 

“Get out!” ejaculated Barney. “It can’t be.” 

It is ; look, there are two men in it, and they’re 
paddling straight on ! ” 

“ That’s a fact ; they must be crazy.” 

“ I’m going down,” cried Sandy, and dashed down 
the slope, followed by the other two. Yesterday 
they would not have feared for the safety of the 
canoe and its occupants, but unconsciously the talk 
at the campfire had impressed them with the danger 
of these rapids, at least. 

Meanwhile the light bark with its two occupants 
was drawing perilously near the whirling current. 
The man in the stern was talking boisterously and 
singing occasional snatches of “ Annie Laurie,” 
while he recklessly plied his paddle. The other, with 


THE HAUNTED RAPIDS 


^71 


pallid face and bloodshot eyes, stared straight ahead 
of him without uttering a word, and scarcely pad- 
died at all. A half-gallon demijohn in the middle 
of the canoe told the whole story. They had been 
drinking and were taking no account of rapids or 
other dangers. 

The man in the bow was the first to see, and with 
a startled exclamation, he called to his companion 
to back out of the dangerous current. 

The only reply was a loud laugh and a drunken 
shout. It was too late anyway, for they were al- 
ready caught in the swift water. The man at the 
stern had run these rapids before when the water 
was high, and with reasonable care was compara- 
tively safe. It was lower now and each jagged rock 
had its menace. In a moment the canoe was bob- 
bing up and down on the riot of tumbling waters. 
The man in the bow, fully alive to the danger, used 
his paddle intelligently, but he and his companion 
did not work together. The latter whooped and 
shouted like a madman, and in a frenzy of bravado 
tried to stand up in the canoe. 

The result was inevitable, and while the startled 
group on the shore stood watching with bated 
breath, the canoe staggered, twisted round and over- 
turned. 


CHAPTER XXII 


DONALD 

I T was a wild scene for a morning in late August. 

The clouds were growing darker and the wind 
moaned through the tall pines and hemlocks in a 
weird sort of way. 

A cry of horror rose from the watchers on the 
bank as they saw the canoe flutter and upset. They 
were so powerless to help, and it was a case where 
assistance must be immediate if at all. They saw 
one man throw his arm over a projecting rock and 
draw himself up to safety; but the other never re- 
appeared, while the canoe hurtled and twisted its 
way down to still water. 

The man on the rock did not look up or around 
him, but lay with his arm stretched around it, as 
though dazed or half unconscious. 

Hugh Griswold, with Harvey Jameison and Jim 
Phillips, had gone into the woods to search for logs 
for the fire, but the rest of the party were all on the 
bank when the tragedy happened. The call for ac- 
tion was imperative, but what to do was the question. 
Dad solved the problem in a very simple manner, by 
starting to wade through the rapids to the man on 
the rock. The water was not deep at this time of 
year — not above his waist at any part of his trip 



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DONALD 


^73 


across, but the impact of the rushing water against 
his body was staggering. No one but Dad could 
have done it. From that time forth, the matching 
of his marvelous strength against the onrush of the 
rapids stood pre-eminent among his many achieve- 
ments, in the minds of the boys of Camp Couchi- 
ching. 

Slowly — it seemed inch by inch — ^he won his way 
to the rock. Scarcely daring to breathe, the boys 
watched him take the man from his perilous posi- 
tion and practically carry him back to safety. They 
would have cheered, but the thought of the other 
man who had gone down to certain destruction be- 
fore their eyes, kept them silent. 

When Dad reached land with his burden, the man 
fainted, and as he lay on the bank, so great was his 
pallor that the boys thought he was dead. He was 
apparently about thirty years of age and had brown, 
wavy hair and regular features. Evidently he had 
been ill, and Sandy felt sure he was one of the men 
from the cabin. 

Dad was drenched to the skin, and called per- 
emptorily for a fire, to the boys standing help- 
lessly about. As they jumped to obey, glad to feel 
that they were doing something, the cheery notes of 
a song came ringing through the woods: 

Into the heart of the woods we go. 

Away from the cares that weigh us so. 

A smell of the woods, a song of the reel, 

A breath of the campfire soon to feel,” 


274* FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


and Griswold and his aides emerged from the woods 
with burdens of fire-wood. They stood stock-still 
at sight of the group by the river. Then Griswold 
dropped his load and hurried forward . 

‘‘What is the trouble?” he cried. 

Half a dozen voices tried to explain at once. 
“ Two men upset in the rapids.” “ We’re afraid 
one is drowned.” “ Dad rescued this one.” “ Car- 
ried him out on his back.” “ He looks as if he was 
dead.” “ They were drunk.” 

Glancing from the prostrate stranger to Dad, 
who, dripping with water, was bending over him 
and rubbing his limbs, Griswold quickly picked up 
a tin pail and handed it to Sandy. “ Get it half full 
of water, quick,” he directed. “ And the rest of you 
fellows attend to the campfire; we want a big one.” 

Raking out a bed of coals, he set the pail upon 
it: almost instantly it began to sizzle and by the 
time the fire was radiating genial warmth, the coffee 
was made. 

The unconscious man was brought nearer to it, 
and Harvey Jameison took his position beside him, 
while Dad set about changing his dripping gar- 
ments. The thoughts of all were upon the man who 
had gone down. Watchers had run along the shore 
to look out for signs of him, but there were none, 
and no one had any doubt as to his fate. 

“ It was a case of too much whisky,” Dad re- 
marked sadly. “ I think they were both too drunk 
to know what they were doing.” 

Griswold had not given the stranger more than 


DONALD 


275 


a passing glance. He had been too busy doing the 
things which he knew to be necessary. Now with 
a cup of strong coffee, he approached him and kneel- 
ing down, prepared to administer the stimulant, for 
the man had opened his eyes a moment before and 
consciousness seemed to be returning. Sandy heard 
Griswold give a low cry of astonishment, and saw 
his face grow white, as he looked for the first time 
on the death-like face of the stranger. Then quickly 
catching his breath, he gently raised the man’s head 
and put the cup to his lips. 

Slowly the eyes opened and fixed themselves, not 
on the fire or the faces of those around him, but on 
the river, and a shudder passed over his frame. He 
shivered in spite of the heat, and Griswold gave him 
the rest of the coffee, and slipping a coat under his 
head, stood up. 

The stimulant had its effect. For the first time 
he was conscious of those around him, and looked 
wonderingly from one to the other, then raised his 
eyes to Griswold’s face. A startling change passed 
over him. With a frightened cry he sat up, his eyes 
starting from their sockets, still fixed on the face 
above him, his expression that of incredulity, min- 
gled with pitiful appeal. 

My God, it’s the Kid ! ” he breathed, and sank 
back, apparently unconscious, once more. 

The boys stood in speechless astonishment as Gris- 
wold sat down and took the stranger’s head in his 
lap as gently as a woman might have done. No one 
asked a question, for the experiences of the past half 


276 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


hour had put a spell upon them ; such strange things 
were happening, that anything at all might come to 
pass now. Only Sandy could not keep silent very 
long. “ I can show you the cabin where he lives, if 
you want to take him there,” he said eagerly. 

Griswold shook his head, and Sandy saw that his 
face was full of pain. The stranger looked up and 
raised himself again, his breath coming in quick, 
audible gasps. 

“ It can’t be you ! ” he cried weakly ! It can’t ; 
it can’t; you’ve just come to torment me!” 

“ No, Don, I’m very real, but I haven’t come to 
torment you. Better lie down again and take it 
easy. There’s more coffee here.” 

“ No, no ! You don’t know that I’ve broken every 
promise I ever made to you. It would have been bet- 
ter to have let me die in the rapids.” 

‘‘ No ; don’t think of that now. It’s lucky for you 
that someone was here.” 

“ I want you to know that I tried to keep straight. 
Oh God, how I tried I ” 

“You’ve been ill.?” 

“ Yes, typhoid, but you can’t kill me,” he ended 
with a bitter laugh. Then he suddenly looked around 
and cried, “Where is Jack.?” 

No one answered. Then in the silence that fol- 
lowed, Griswold asked, “ Was Jack your compan- 
ion.? ” 

His tone conveyed the truth, and the sick man’s 
face was pitiful to see. It was too horrible ; but he 
lay in silence with closed eyes. 


DONALD 


^77 


Griswold turned to Dad. “ It is Donald Mac- 
Millan ; I knew him in the west,” he explained briefly. 
Then to Sandy he said, ‘‘ Tell me about the cabin.” 

Sandy told him what Jim had said, and about the 
finding of the cabin on the other side of the brook. 

“We had better take him there,” he said thought- 
fully. 

“ Let me help ! ” cried Sandy, but the sick man 
insisted on walking. The shock had weakened him 
terribly, and he almost collapsed as Griswold and 
Sandy supported him on the short walk through the 
woods. 

The weather was still dark and unpromising, but 
all fear of rain seemed to be over. It was too windy 
for that. There was no talk of taking up their jour- 
ney, though. The nearest farm house was a mile 
or two away, and boys were dispatched to give no- 
tice of the tragedy and to learn where official notice 
must be given. It was astonishing how quickly the 
news spread in that apparently sparsely settled 
region. 

In an incredibly short time half the countryside 
was there, and soon the body of the drowned man 
was found half a mile below the rapids. He was 
well known in the district, through several hunting 
trips a few years before, and the addresses of sev- 
eral of his friends were known. He had the reputa- 
tion of being a hard drinker, but a good fellow in 
other ways, and the country people were shocked at 
the tragic end of the man who had sat by their fire- 
sides and who was such a good comrade. 


278 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 

For two Hours Donald MacMillan slept, and 
Griswold and Sandy watched together in the cabin. 

Once in a while the others came and went away 
again, but Sandy would not leave. The look of sore 
trouble and disappointment on Griswold’s face wor- 
ried him: never had he seen him so weary and un- 
responsive. He was gentle enough — more so than 
usual, in fact — ^but he spoke but seldom. At last 
Sandy went down to the river for water, and stayed 
for a little time discussing the events of the day with 
the others. When he returned, the man was awake 
and talking earnestly. 

Sandy set the water inside and sat down on the 
doorstep. 

“ I don’t want you to think that I didn’t try, or 
that I didn’t keep straight for a long time, for I 
did,” the voice was saying. “ There wasn’t a boy in 
the bunch that v/asn’t on the square after you went 
away. If there was any doubt about a thing, they 
always asked what the Kid would have thought of 
it, and that settled it. 

‘‘ I tell you it was great to feel that I was a man 
again, and not a slave, and I began to make my plans 
to go home and see the old folks. I never told you, 
did I, that I ran away from home when I was fifteen 
and I’ve never written to them since? No? Well, 
it’s a fact. Perhaps I was more to blame than I 
thought, but my father — well, there’s no use talk- 
ing now, but he was the kind that nobody could live 
with. I never worried much about him, but thoughts 
of my mother have haunted me ever since. I wanted 


DONALD 


279 


to go home, and when somebody proposed to come 
to New Ontario and try our luck in prospecting, I 
said ‘ all right, that will bring me so much nearer 
home.’ It was there the devil got hold of me again. 
I needn’t tell you how it happened, but it was a mis- 
take at first, and after that, I didn’t care. I broke 
loose worse than ever. Then I took down sick with 
typhoid, and my chum proposed after I got better 
that we come down to this cabin and stay for a few 
weeks, till I got strong again. He wasn’t busy and 
he came with me. He’d been here before, you see. 
It was lonesome and not much to do, and he took to 
drinking hard. He hasn’t been sober for over a 
week. Poor old Jack; he’s had his faults, but he’s 
looked after me like a brother. We went out to get 
provisions and more whisky. You know the rest. 
Jack’s gone, and I ought to have gone too, for all 
the good I am. I tell you, it was horrible when I was 
clinging to that rock out there. 

Every sin I had ever committed rose up to mock 
me. I even dared to pray. I, who have been such 
a traitor. But, oh, it is no use ; it’s no use ! ” 

He had been sitting on the side of the bunk, talk- 
ing feverishly and excitedly, but he threw himself 
down again with a gesture of despair. 

“ There’s a great deal of use,” said Griswold 
quietly, ‘‘ and there’s no need for despair. Come 
back to Him, Don, just as you did at first and start 
all over again.” 

“ How can I.^^ Oh, you don’t know what you are 
saying ! ” 


S80 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


“ Yes, I do. Now listen to me, Don. You meant 
it all when you came to Him the first time, and quit 
all this sort of thing, didn’t you.? ” 

Yes.” 

‘‘And you put up a hard fight, if I’m not mis- 
taken.” 

“ Yes, yes.” 

“ Then since you tripped up and went down, you 
haven’t felt very good over it, have you.? ” 

“It’s been Hell!” 

“ Then I’m here to tell you that He wants you 
back again. Oh, Don, He’ll make a man of you. 
Never mind if you did fall once. He is ready to for- 
give it all.” 

“ Do you really mean that.? ” 

“ Every word of it.” 

“ Oh, if I could only believe it,” said Donald trem- 
blingly. “ If I could only feel sure, I would 
stake my all on it, for I am at the end of every- 
thing.” 

“ It is a sure thing,” said Griswold solemnly. 
“ ‘ Though your sins be as scarlet.’ You know the 
verse. That means you, doesn’t it .? ” 

“ It sounds like it, and I guess I’ll take Him at 
His word; I can do nothing else.” 

“ Thank God ! ” said Griswold reverently. 

During this conversation Sandy’s face was a pic- 
ture of suppressed excitement; a wonderful thought 
had come to him, which almost made him shout aloud. 
His eyes sparkled and his face glowed. Twice he 
half rose to interrupt, but the character of the con- 


DONALD 


281 


versation forbade it. Now he could restrain himself 
no longer. 

‘‘ You are Donald! ” he cried, as with a spring, he 
stood beside Griswold. 

That is my name,” said the man wonderingly, 
while Griswold looked surprised. 

And you left home fifteen years ago last June, 
and your mother has white hair, and eyes just like 
yours ? ” 

‘‘ The rest is all true enough, but my mother’s hair 
wasn’t white. It was brown, the color of mine. At 
least it was when I saw it last.” 

“ It’s white now. Oh, I knew it was you as soon as 
you told Mr. Griswold about leaving home, and I’m 
so glad ! Barney 1 ” he cried as that youth stepped 
up to the door. ‘‘What do you think? This is 
Donald!” 

“ Donald ! ” repeated Barney in a stupefied man- 
ner. “ Who’s Donald? ” 

“ Oh, don’t you know ? The one who ran away 
from home, that his mother hasn’t heard from 
since.” 

Barney looked as pleased and excited as Sandy 
himself, while Donald continued to look from one to 
the other in astonishment. 

“ I don’t know what you are talking about,” he 
said at last, half impatiently. 

“ Didn’t you live in a white house at the end of 
a long lane, with a cupboard with blue dishes, and a 
picture of a boy on the wall, and red geraniums in 
the window? ” demanded Sandy. 


282 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


“ Yes, that’s my home, but tell me what you know 
about it,” he cried in agitated tones. 

“ Oh, we called there one day, Barney and I ; we’d 
run away from home and we were hungry. Your 
mother gave us bread and milk and chicken.” 

“ Yes, and she made us take some away with us. 
Gee, but we were hungry,” supplemented Barney. 

“ I was lame and she got some liniment and bound 
up my ankle ; and say, she wants you back awfully,” 
continued Sandy. 

Donald was whiter than ever. Leaning forward 
in an agitated manner, he drank in every word. 

Ah ! that was my mother ! ” he breathed. “ What 
— what did she say, and how did she look? ” 

“ She looked kind of sorry,” said Sandy softly, 
and she told us to go home to our mothers, because 
it was weary work for the mothers, waiting for the 
boys who never came home.” 

Donald put his face in his hands and choked down 
something like a sob, while the tears stood frankly in 
Griswold’s eyes. For a time no one spoke. The 
boys swallowed hard and looked attentively out over 
the river, and then Griswold said earnestly : 

Do you need any further proof than this that 
you are under divine care ? ” 

Donald lifted his head, a new life and determina- 
tion written in his face. 

‘‘ I am going home,” he said simply. 

They made a grave for poor erring Jack among 
the wild flowers, under a spreading maple, and there 
the next evening the country people came from far 


DONALD 


283 


and near, bringing with them a minister who was 
seeking health in that region. 

They laid him to rest, the distant sound of the 
rapids in their ears, and a strange sense of the awful- 
ness of sin in their hearts. 

Donald MacMillan was there, straight and tense 
and silent, only the deathly pallor of his face show- 
ing the grief and repentance he felt. The minis- 
ter’s words were few, but they were all of the mercy 
and the loving kindness of God. 

When he had finished speaking, the boys noticed 
that the light from the setting sun broke through 
the trees, and fell over the new-made grave with a 
beam of hope. 

It fell in a golden sheen over Donald as he stood 
beside Griswold, and as it did so he quickly raised 
his head, and looked up. 

All the doubt and trouble seemingly vanished in 
a moment, and in its place came the light of a great 
resolve, and a great joy. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


HOME AGAIN 

O NCE more Sandy and Barney were trudging 
along the dusty road which dipped down to 
the stone bridge over the creek, where they had met 
old Bill, the tramp, a number of weeks before. The 
fields were brown and yellow now, and the creek was 
very low. The birds still sang in the trees, whose 
leaves hung limp, from the heat and dust of sum- 
mer, and the same squirrel challenged their ap- 
proach from the tree near the bridge. 

With curious feelings they noted that a new barn 
was in course of erection in place of the one which 
was destroyed by fire. Instead of the bedraggled 
pair who had fought and begged their way that day, 
however, they were coming this time like conquering 
generals bearing home the spoils of war. 

They were bringing Donald MacMillan home, and 
their hearts beat high with the importance of their 
commission. He had been considered too weak and 
ill to take the journey alone, and Hugh Griswold, in 
consultation with the Chief over the telephone at the 
nearest station, had arranged that they should be 
his companions. 

Their clothes had been brought to the train at 
the Orillia station, and there, in a durry of greeting 
284 


HOME AGAIN 


285 


and farewell, they had seen the last reminder of 
Camp Couchiching. It was about to close, and they 
were going straight home after this. 

They could not forget how the Chief had jumped 
on the train before it had well stopped, and how he 
had hurried forward and given Donald such a hand- 
clasp as brought the glow to his cheek and the spar- 
kle to his eye. When the Chief bore down on a man 
like that, it always made him sit up and want to do 
things worth while. 

Donald had insisted on walking from the station; 
in fact there was nothing else to do, but by the time 
they reached the bridge, he was weak and spent, and 
the boys suggested that they rest on the bank of the 
creek. 

‘‘ YouVe got to buck up some before we take you 
home,” urged Sandy, eyeing him critically but af- 
fectionately, as they threw themselves down under a 
spreading tree. They had learned to like him for his 
own sake during the past few days. Despite his 
weakness, there was a breezy directness about him 
which attracted them wonderfully. Then, too, his 
utter devotion to Griswold won them. Not that he 
said anything, or even looked it; they just felt it; 
that was all. He had grown strangely silent as they 
neared home, and the boys, too, felt vaguely uneasy. 
With fine reticence they had refrained from any 
reference to his father, but they had not forgotten 
what they had heard on their former visit, and they 
wondered what would be his attitude towards the 
.wanderer. 


286 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


Donald smiled indulgently at Sandy’s remark. 
“ You kids have got your hands full this time,” he 
said. 

“ That’s right. You see, we don’t want to bring 
you this far and then have you disgrace us at the 
last.” 

How are we going to face the music ? That’s 
what I want to know,” said Barney, as he selected a 
pebble to skim into the creek. ‘‘ Who’s going first, 
and what are we going to say? ” 

‘‘ Well, we’ve got to break it to his mother easy, 
that’s sure,” remarked Sandy very decidedly. 
“ I’ll just go ahead and tell her that a friend of 
hers from the States is here and wants to see 
her.” 

“ You wiU? ” 

Sure I will. If you go butting in, Barney Allen, 
you’ll queer the whole business.” 

“ You will,” repeated Barney aggravatingly. 
“Say, you never did a thing yet without putting 
your foot in it somehow.” 

“ That’s all you know about it,” retorted Sandy 
in an offended tone, and turned to Donald. “ I could 
introduce you as a sewing machine agent, or a fel- 
low that sells medicine for corns and bunions,” he 
suggested tentatively. 

Donald smiled wanly. “You fellows own me to- 
day,” he said uncertainly. “ I’ll let you manage it. 
You can go ahead when we get near the house, if 
you want to. It doesn’t make much difference to 
me. I’ve got just so much to go through anyway. 


HOME AGAIN 


287 


I’m going home, and I’m going to see my mother. 
That is all I’m thinking about.” 

Yes, we’ll attend to the rest,” said Sandy com- 
fortingly. 

“ Do you see the new barn they’re putting up ? ” 
asked Barney irrelevantly. 

Sandy glanced over at it uneasily, and the whole 
scene of that awful night came vividly before him. 
He thought of poor, good-natured, old Bill, and of 
the murderer awaiting trial now in that northern 
town. His watch had been recovered and was at 
home waiting for him, but the memory of that night 
would never be effaced — never. 

‘‘ I heard a man say as we got off the train that 
someone had been hurt there to-day,” remarked 
Donald. 

“ Gracious ! I feel as if that might be my fault, 
too,” groaned Sandy. 

Donald had heard the story of the experiences 
of that night, and changed the subject by some 
reference to camp. 

“ Gee, how funny it will be to be back in the city,” 
cried Bs^rney. “ I feel as if I was going to burst 
my collar button every minute.” 

That’s because you’re too fat,” retorted Sandy. 

I am, eh? Well, look here,” and Barney proudly 
drew himself up, and expanded his chest until not 
only his collar-button, but every button on his 
clothes was in danger of flying to pieces. 

“ We are going to form a new patrol of the boy 
scouts and I am to be leader,” remarked Sandy. “ Mr. 


2S8 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


Adams is to be our scoutmaster and he is just fineo 
There will be lots to do, no fear. And then besides, 
we are to be in Mr. Griswold’s group down at the 
club.” 

Donald sat up, You are.^ ” he said. Well, let 
me tell you, that you fellows don’t half appreciate a 
leader like that.” 

“ Oh, but we do ! ” cried both boys in a 
breath. 

“You think you do, lads, and I’m not blaming 
you,” said Donald gently, “ but what I mean to say, 
is that you haven’t the same reason to know him and 
care for him that some of the rest of us poor devils 
have.” 

The boys looked at him wonderingly, but did 
not speak, and he went on passionately. “ Yes, it’s 
the fellows that he has followed and helped through 
thick and thin that know him. Why, he came 
out there to the construction camp and worked as 
a common navvy during his college vacation, just so 
he could help the men. He was so young and boyish 
that we all called him the ‘ Kid.’ 

“ I was in with a gambling, drinking set and he 
just came in and made friends with us, and never 
once did he look at us as if he knew we weren’t fit 
for decent people to speak to, not he. Oh, he was 
white from the ground up, the Kid was. Then he 
followed us one night into a gambling hell, where he 
had heard there was going to be trouble, and he 
saved my life. Yes, saved it at the risk of his own. 
That’s the kind of a man he is. Did he cast it up to 
me afterwards.? Not on your life! He clean for- 


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HOME AGAIN 


^89 


got all about it. And then you kids think you know 
him. Not much ! ” 

The boys were silent for a moment and then 
Sandy said humbly, “ I guess we don’t know him, 
but he has done us some good, too.” 

‘‘ Take it from me,” said Donald emphatically, 

it isn’t what a fellow says that makes you believe 
in him and swear by him. It’s what he is. I’ve 
been a poor fool and not worth anybody’s notice, 
but by God’s help, I’m not going to break faith 
again. I’ve had my lesson, and I intend to lead a 
decent life, and do all I can to help other fellows 
to do the same.” 

Sandy impulsively reached out and gave Donald 
his hand. There was more than approval and en- 
couragement in the action. As they looked into 
each other’s eyes, they knew it was a solemn pact. 

Barney blinked at them a moment, and then said 
quickly, “ See here, you fellows, you can count me in 
on that, too. Yes, I mean it, and I’ll stand by it.” 

After that, there was silence for a few moments, 
and then half reluctantly they turned to the road 
again. As they neared the lane leading to the Mac- 
Millan home, each heart was beating fast with sup- 
pressed excitement. 

The boys were eager and happy. They had read 
of such denouements in novels, but had never hoped 
to figure in one. But to Donald there was much of 
pain and shame in the situation. He was also very 
doubtful as to the welcome he would receive from 
his father, and when once more the boys offered to 
go ahead and break the news, he gladly consented. 


290 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


Half way up the lane there was a silver maple, 
an old friend of his boyhood, and he leaned against 
it tremblingly, wondering if he would have strength 
to get to the fir tree which stood between it and 
the house. He had brought that fir tree from the 
woods, and had planted it with his own hands when 
he was ten ; now it was a great tree.’^ 

‘‘ How will we fix it ? ” asked Barney in a half whis- 
per, as they neared the house and noted that there 
were two or three vehicles in, the yard and several 
men standing over by the barn. 

‘‘ Why, we’ll come up to it easy. I’ll tell Mrs. 
MacMillan that there’s somebody wants to see her. 
Of course, she’ll ask who it is and we can say that 
it’s a man she knew a long time ago; then if she 
asks his name, we’ll say it’s a fellow who knew her 
before he knew anybody else. She’d be sure to guess 
Donald then.” 

‘‘ Sure.” 

The door of the kitchen was partly open, and they 
were not a little amazed to see that there were sev- 
eral people inside. What was going on, anyway.^ 

In answer to a faint knock, an elderly woman 
came to the door, whom they had never seen before. 
She looked at them disapprovingly, and Sandy asked 
in a choking voice if Mrs. MacMillan was in. 

She shook her head sadly. “ Don’t trouble her 
now,” she said in a mournful whisper. ‘‘ She is with 
Mr. MacMillan, and the doctor says he may not 
live an hour.” 

“ Oh, but I must see her then,” cried Sandy. 


HOME AGAIN 


291 


“ Somebody’s here and wants to see her. Please let 
me speak to her.” 

The woman looked at him in surprise. She has 
been with him for three days and three nights, and 
has scarcely left his bedside. Run away now and 
don’t trouble her,” she said sternly. 

Yes, but we must see her,” they persisted in a 
breath. 

“ Well, then you’ll just wait.” 

“ We can’t wait.” ^ 

The colloquy was interrupted by Mrs. MacMil- 
lan’s appearance at the door. Her face was pale 
and troubled, but she held out a trembling hand. 

“ Why, it’s the two laddies ! ” she said kindly. It 
was the same face that the boys remembered so well 
— strong and sweet and steady-eyed, and so like 
Donald’s. 

Somebody wants to see you,” faltered Sandy 
faintly. 

She passed her hand wearily across her forehead. 

To see me,” she repeated. Ah, I fear I’m nof 
seeing people to-day ” 

‘‘But you must see interrupted Sandy. 

“ It’s — it’s Donald ! ” cried Barney. 

“What are you saying, laddie she cried 
sharply, and clutched the door-post for support. 

Then Sandy and Barney both threw discretion to 
the winds. Sandy reiterated Barney’s assertion, 
while the latter rushed out to call Donald. He 
waved his hat and shouted, and then when Donald, 
unable to keep up with this swift change of tactics. 


292 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


did not move fast enough to suit him, he put his fin- 
gers in his mouth and made the shrill, unearthly 
whistle that only a boy in dead earnest can make. 

The men hastened from the barn at the unseemly 
disturbance, and the women came out to protest. 

“ Yes, it’s Donald,” Sandy was saying excitedly. 
“ We found him and we brought him home to you. 
He’s been sick, but he’s getting better.” 

The mother’s face was pallid and her eyes were 
straining past him towards the figure coming up the 
lane ; the while she was repeating dazedly : “ Donald, 
Donald.” Then she knew him, and with a glad cry, 
she ran to meet him with arms thrown wide. He was 
not the ruddy-faced boy who had run away from home 
years before, but she gathered the pale, shabbily- 
dressed man to her arms as if he had been a 
child. 

“ Oh, my lad, my lad,” she breathed, your 
faither’s deein’, and he couldna’ dee content until 
he made it right wi’ you.” 

Together they stood clasped in each other’s arms, 
and then the onlookers stood aside while she led 
her son in to his father. 

Even at that moment, she was not forgetful of 
the two boys who had brought to her this great joy 
in the midst of her sorrow, and she silently motioned 
to them to come in. 

Wonderingly they followed. It was all turning 
out so different from what they had planned, and 
they sat down in the roomy kitchen to wait. It was 
the same cheerful room, with the yellow-painted 


HOME AGAIN 


293 


floor, the crisp curtains and the flowers in the win- 
dows. Opening out of it was the bedroom occupied 
by the sick man, and the boys listened in awed si- 
lence to the sounds issuing from it. It was the sec- 
ond time within the week that they had come in 
touch with death and they felt very solemn. 

Donald’s voice was low and uncertain, but the 
dying man’s was clear and distinct between labored 
breaths. “ I have been a hard — hard man — forgive 
— and take care of your mother — I can die easier 
now.” 

The voice ceased and there was nothing but the 
heavy breathing of the patient to be heard, and some- 
one closed the door. 

To the boys their voracious appetites seemed sac- 
rilegious and indecent that night, for no one else 
seemed to think of eating at all. They blushed when 
the plate was piled high the second time with the 
snowy home-made bread, and they had had their 
third helping to peaches and cream; but Mrs. Mac- 
Millan came out and smiled upon them encourag- 
ingly, and they kept on. 

In the midst of her sorrow, there was such a look 
of deep joy and gratitude in her sweet face, that 
Sandy found himself wishing that he could do some- 
thing for her really worth while. 

After six weeks of sleeping under canvas and in the 
open, the little bedroom under the eaves closed in on 
them uncomfortably; but they did not lie awake to 
worry about it, and when death visited the house that 
night, they were entirely unaware of it. 


294 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


In the the morning they found everything quiet 
and orderly. The man who had just passed into the 
great unknown had not been an agreeable person to 
get along with ; and while his widow mourned for him, 
from an innate sense of loyalty, yet there was a 
vague suggestion of relief in the atmosphere, which 
even the boys felt. 

Somewhere in the small hours of the morning, 
when Donald and his mother were alone with their 
dead, he told her everything — enough, at least, to 
make her understand something of the depth of his 
fall, and the greatness of his redemption. 

This morning he looked better and stronger than 
the boys had yet seen him ; and this, notwithstanding 
the fact that he had been awake all night under the 
most sorrowful circumstances. It was evident that 
very quietly and seriously, he was accepting the re- 
sponsibilities which naturally belonged to him. 

After breakfast he insisted on seeing personally 
to the hitching of the horse which was to take the 
boys to the station. His mother’s eyes melted with 
a great joy as they followed him, and turning im- 
pulsively to the boys, she laid a hand on the shoulder 
of each. 

Oh, my lads ! ” she cried, it’s a mother’s bless- 
ing will follow you wherever you go. I want you to 
come sometime soon, and spend a week with us; I’ll 
never be content now till I know you better.” 

Sandy promised for them both, for she would not 
be denied ; then she continued : 

“ And you must tell yon two laddies from me ; yon 


HOME AGAIN 


295 


Griswold and the other, who pulled Donald out of 
the water ” 

Dad,” supplied Sandy. 

Aye ; tell them both that there’s a thanfu’ mother 
that’s wantin’ to see them, and that the door will al- 
ways stand open wide for them.” 

The carriage was ready, and the boys took their 
places; Donald’s last wordo were spoken after they 
were in: 

Tell him that he’ll find me here on the farm, and 
that I’ve found my work,” he said, and waved his 
hand after the departing vehicle. 

At the foot of the lane, Sandy looked back and saw 
the mother and son returning to the house hand in 
hand ; and there came to him like a flash, a vision of 
the tremendous seriousness of life, and of the some- 
times far reaching consequence of little acts. He 
had never thought of it before. 

In the rush and roar of the city once more, and in 
the whirl of greetings from friends and relatives, 
camp and its experiences seemed suddenly very far 
away. The dip of the paddle, the roar of the rapids, 
the smoke of the campfire, and the whisperings of the 
wind through the forest was more than memory, how- 
ever. It had entered their blood, and in their hearts 
they said : We are going again, and the next time 

we are going farther.” 

Sandy was glad to be home, too, and the stories of 
adventure crowded on each other so fast, in his mind, 
that he could not tell them fast enough. 

Even his mother found herself laughing merrily 


296 FROM TENDERFOOT TO SCOUT 


over tales of boyish frolic at which she would have 
frowned a month ago. All unknown, even to her hus- 
band, she had been doing some deep thinking since 
Parents’ Day at camp, and had arrived at a definite 
conclusion. When Sandy outlined his plans for the 
new patrol of boy scouts, of which he was to be 
leader, she electrified him by saying: 

“ I have had the attic arranged so that you may 
use it for your headquarters.” 

For a moment Sandy stared at her speechlessly. 
This was the most unheard of thing yet. “ Why — 
the fellows would have to go up the stairs ” — ^he fal- 
tered at last. 

“ Yes, I know, but I want them to come,” she re- 
joined, and Sandy felt that his cup of joy was full. 

Ahead of him was a fall and winter filled with the 
most delightful prospects of scoutcraft, work, and 
companionships. As he threw out his arms, and 
stretched himself to his full height, feeling so strong 
and so physically fit, he wished that he might be 
called upon to do something hard and really worth 
while. 

The next evening as he and his father were in the 
library, the maid brought to him a package and a 
letter, both from camp. 

The package contained a beautiful Honor pen- 
nant, specially decorated with the crest of the Cen- 
tral Young Men’s Christian Association, and the 
initials C. C. S., standing, the letter explained, for 
“ Camp Couchiching Spirit.” The letter was from 
the Chief and said that by universal consent, the 


HOME AGAIN 


297 


pennant had been awarded to him for the best all 
round development through the entire camp, and for 
the most noted manifestations of the Camp Cou- 
chiching spirit, of ‘‘ help the other fellow.” 

With shining eyes, Sandy handed it across the 
table to his father. 

Mr. Merrill read the letter, and fingered the pen- 
nant with more pride and satisfaction than he cared 
to show. 

‘‘ That is well,” he said, and then as his fingers 
played over the word HONOR, on the pennant, he 
added : 

You seem to have learned something besides box- 
ing and pillow-fighting up there.” 

Sandy looked thoughtful a moment, and then said 
hesitatingly, 

‘‘ Yes, I guess I’ve had it knocked into me that 
there are other people, — and that a fellow who has 
the making of a man in him can find a whole lot to 
do for them.” 


THE END 


















